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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323937">Seventeen, Actually</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway'>witchway</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Demon!Tony, Eventual Happy Ending, Fingering, Heavy Petting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Protectiveness, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:47:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about snuggling.</p><p>And growing.</p><p>You've been warned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. High Priest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter had become quite graceful at avoiding kisses he didn’t want.  Matthew’s kiss landed on his cheek.  Peter took his face in both hands and kissed him firmly on the forehead, then again, soundly, on his ear, then pulled him close.</p><p>“I can’t be your boyfriend,” he said as gently as he could.  “But I will always be your friend, and your annoying older brother.  And the guy who will always give you your fair share of the loot.” </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I recommend this for your listening pleasure as you read the following chapter:</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVAqHvxz7ao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>High Priest</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It had taken Tony months, he explained, almost a year, to construct the face that he had chosen to make for Peter.  The way he described it, he had spent more time on his face than on his human voice.  That’s why Peter had spent so much time trying to have a conversation with the thing that sounded like the winds of Wuthering Heights.  That was a left-over voice, Tony explained.  From when he had been the familiar of Evan Post.</p><p>But the creation of his “man’s yard” only took days.  Tony was very strong now, just as he had promised.  With the proper spell he would be able to be two places at once.  And, at noon exactly, Peter’s little family felt the walls shake and the windows rattle.  They called their neighbors to ask if there had been an earthquake.  Only Peter knew the truth.  He dug up the pebbles and put them in a mason jar and displayed them proudly on his shelf, just as he promised he would.</p><p>Peter enjoyed helping Tony out of his old-fashioned clothes and pulling him onto the bed.  There he sat crosslegged, spine straight.  Peter climbed into Tony’s lap, wrapping his legs around Tony’s strong back.   For the longest time they spent, touching each other, kissing, examining.  Endlessly Peter quizzed Tony on how it felt.  His fingertips.  His hand.  And, when he was brave enough, his mouth </p><p>Finally the talking was over and the earnest kissing began. </p><p>Peter came with only two fingers inside him.  Tony didn’t complain, of course.  He simply lapped up the results, then settled in to feed.  When the feeding was over, Peter curled up in his arms and refused to answer questions, kissing Tony on the mouth when Tony continued to ask.  Tony took the hint and held him, stroking his hair and singing Portuguese lullabies, his own erection laying peacefully between them.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Peter said finally, embarrassed.  “I thought I was ready.”</p><p>Tony looked confused at the apology.  “I am your servant,” was all he replied.  Peter couldn’t figure out if he was stating a fact or if that was just an old-fashioned way of saying “no problem.” </p><p>They had just began to talk about it – it had suddenly occurred to Peter that Tony had to be <em> incredibly </em>knowledgeable about sex if they could just agree on what words they would use to call things – when Tony turned to him suddenly and spoke.</p><p>“Matthew DeSlaughter is here,” he said.  His voice was soft but urgent.  “He wants to talk to you of Quentin Beck.  You should go to him.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>                                                                                                                    * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“First, go to the DeSlaughter house and make sure everyone is asleep.  Don’t let anyone notice he’s gone,” Peter instructed as he hastily threw on his clothes and sat down to put on his socks.  “Then come back here and make sure this crew is all sleeping soundly.  No 4:30am trips into the kitchen for snacks tonight.  Now I’m not going to ask you to <em> not </em>listen to our conversation…”</p><p>Tony lay quietly on the bed, attentive but calm.  Of course, he didn’t have to dress, his clothes had already appeared on his body.  </p><p>“In fact, you probably need to be there,” Peter concluded, as he put on one shoe.  In the time it had taken to pull his curtain away from the window, and signal Matty to meet him at the side door, Peter had put two and two together, and he didn’t like the answer that he had gotten.  “So meet us by the lake when everyone else is secure.  Matty might need you to take the edge off any strong emotion tonight.  No forgetting… you don't have permission for that.  Just take the edge off.  It’s easier to think straight.”</p><p>“He is <em> very </em>distraught, Master Peter.”</p><p>“Yes I gathered that.  But Tony?”  Peter sat forward in his seat and looked Tony straight in the eye.</p><p>“No matter what he says, no matter what we talk about, <em> you will not do anything tonight </em> .  I’m <em> dead </em> serious, Tony.  We’re going to talk about a lot of things tonight.  You’re going to hear a lot of things that you don’t like.  But you <em> will not act </em> until I give you the word.  Do you understand?”</p><p>“I can kill him in his sleep,” Tony said.  There was a smile in his voice, but his eyes were very dark.</p><p>“Oh <b> <em>now</em> </b> he wants to kill people in their sleep,” Peter groused as he tied up his other shoe.  “I tell him to kill Philip Lovelace who was wandering around crazy with his 44 and his army pistol and I get ‘Oh No Master You Forbade It When You Were A Lad of Fifteen!”  But the guest pastor kisses me and grabs my ass and <em> now </em>you’re all like “kill him in his sleep?”  Your motivations are showing, Tony.  And you told me you wouldn’t be jealous of mortal lovers.  I didn’t even ask, that came directly from you.”</p><p>“He made you sit on the bed and weep,” the demon said in a cold voice that gave Peter the shivers.</p><p>Peter stood.  He drew himself up to the entirety of his 5’11 feet (the last time he measured) and stared his demon down. </p><p>“Yes.  Because I cry sometimes.   I suggest you get used to it.  But you’re a loaded gun, Tony, and the last time I mishandled you, Kitty Lovelace <em> died </em> .  I’m asking you as a friend.  <em> Do not act </em> until I make a decision.  <em> Promise </em> me.”</p><p>Tony looked up at him, cautious, calculating.  Clearly considering his options.  But in the end he dropped his eyes, and nodded.  </p><p>“Thank you.  Go.  Meet us at Suicide Lake.”</p><p>Peter turned for the door, and was startled to find an immovable hand gripping on his wrist, stopping him.  He looked down, surprised, at the strength of the hand.  Then he looked at the demon it was attached to.</p><p>“I am <em> not </em>jealous of mortal lovers,” Tony corrected.  He sounded offended.  Then his hand, along with the rest of him, dissolved into the bed.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Peter didn’t even ask.  He didn’t have to ask.  He knew everything he needed to know from Tony’s tone of voice.  He met Matty in the darkness and wrapped the younger boy up in his arms, rocking him gently when he felt the tears on his neck.</p><p>“No no no, shhhhhh…” he started, but then he stopped himself.</p><p>“Never mind.  Don’t listen to me.  Cry first, talk later.  That works best.”</p><p>When Matthew stopped shaking enough to walk, Peter took his hand and led him towards the path to the lake.</p><p>“Where are we going?” he asked in a tiny voice, scrubbing away the tears.</p><p>“We’re going to go confront the ghost of Tom Dylan Post,” Peter said cheerfully.</p><p>“We’re going to ask him why all men are assholes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>                                                                          * * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For the past two years of his life, Peter had lived with a familiar who liked to kiss him to get out of answering questions.  As a result, Peter had become quite graceful at avoiding kisses he didn’t want.  Matthew’s kiss landed on his cheek.  Peter took his face in both hands and kissed him firmly on the forehead, then again, soundly, on his ear, then pulled him close.</p><p>“I can’t be your boyfriend,” he said as gently as he could.  “But I will always be your friend, and your annoying older brother.  And the guy who will always give you your fair share of the loot.” </p><p>“Because you have a boyfriend in New York.”</p><p>“Uh… yes.  Yes I do.  His name is Tony and it’s very serious.  And that’s the only reason why.”</p><p>“I’m glad you were awake,” Matty said as they sat down the grassy slope and looked out at the lake by moonlight.  “If you weren’t I was just going to come here and dive in and just not come back up.  But then I realized you’d probably get into trouble if I died on your land…"</p><p>“Well that makes you an idiot, because you only considered one person who would get hurt if you did that, and I can think of 6 more off the top of my head.</p><p>“Now listen to me, idiot.  Your job is go to college in the city with me and get out of this one-horse town.  No <em> don’t </em> give me that shit about not being good at anything, it doesn’t <em> matter </em> what you’re good at.  You go undeclared and <em> you just get out </em>.  Your parents are willing to pay for it…”</p><p>“No, not anymore.  Everything’s changed.  Mike’s girlfriend is pregnant.”</p><p>“Oh, shit.  I guess <em> that’s </em> what they were doing in the woods.”</p><p>“It’s a secret, I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?  Well I uncovered 4 army boxes of gold bars and they’re selling at $400 a bar.  That’s a secret.  I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”</p><p>Matthew turned to look at him in surprise.  His face was close and pale in the moonlight and suddenly Peter found himself smiling.  He leaned forward and brushed his nose against Matthew as he whispered.</p><p>“You’re going to come to school with me.  And you won’t be afraid because I will be there.  And you’re going to meet so.  Many.  People.  People with all kinds of crazy ideas of what is scary and what is normal and they’re all going to be so completely different from what you know and it’s going to change your world.  And maybe while we’re there, we’ll hook up, only we probably won’t because by then you’ll have met other boys who are <em> so </em> much cooler than me.  And we’re going to go places and do things that Quentin Beck has never even <em> dreamed </em> of…”</p><p>Matty’s face fell.  He pulled away and pulled his knees up to his chin.  Peter fought the urge to hold him close, the way he would with Tony.  He tucked his hands under his legs instead and looked out over the moonlit lake.  As he listened to Matthew’s story he was only slightly surprised to feel his rage was gone.  He decided he probably had Tony to thank for that.</p><p>“...and he’s acting like this is my fault… and he says I said all kinds of things that… but I <em> didn’t </em> … and I was like okay can we just wait two years until I’m 18?   And he said we were just ‘being kind to each other’ and that made it okay I guess?  But now?  I’m just supposed to forget?  Forget everything he <em> promised </em> ?”  Matthew scrubbed away tears with one angry hand as he finished his story.  “And I wasn’t even <em> going </em>to tell anyone but then all of a sudden he said he’d do something really shitty if I told anyone...”</p><p>“Because he’s a really shitty person.  And shitty people do shitty things.”</p><p>“Can you get the ghost of Tom Dylan Post to chop him up into pieces?”</p><p>“<b> <em>No</em> </b> !” Peter said loudly and clearly, making Matty jump.  “Not an option.  <em> Nope </em> !  But we <em> can </em> do something, we just have to figure out <em> what </em> .  We have a week before he leaves, and then he’ll be too far to do anything.  We just have to decide what we want.  And yes we <em> can </em> do <em> something </em>, Robin.  I keep telling you, I have superpowers.”</p><p>“We are <em> not </em> Batman and Robin.   <b> <em>I</em> </b> am Superman.  You can be Supergirl.”</p><p>“Fine, but we are still a two-man Justice League and now it’s time to figure out what to do with the badguy.”</p><p><em> “How?!” </em> Matty spat, turning to face him.  He was clearly tired of inside-jokes.  His eyes were red from crying and his face was swollen and in that moment Peter wondered how he had <em> never </em>noticed that Matthew’s eyes were green.</p><p>Peter opened his mouth, then he closed it again.</p><p>They were past the point of theoreticals.  They were too old for fantasies.  Peter looked at his friend’s face in the moonlight, and realized that he had to make a decision.</p><p>He felt himself suspended at that moment, suspended between the black earth and the dark sky.  But in that <em> place </em>, he realized, he was also suspended between two houses.  To the south of him was the South House, the work of art that Tony had created for the woman he loved to give to the woman she loved.  But to the north of him was another house.  A century ago, Tony had sacrificed the South House, convinced a mob to burn it to the ground, in order to protect the Post Homestead.  </p><p>Here, at this moment, Peter was sitting, dead center, in the middle of Tony’s world.</p><p>And Tony was there.  Tony was with them now. </p><p>And Tony was in total agreement.</p><p>Peter decided.</p><p>“Turn around,” Peter said quietly.</p><p>“Why?” Matty asked, but obeyed when Peter pointed at the lake.  He turned his body around and allowed Peter to move close behind him, straddling him with long legs and wrapping his arms around Matthew’s slim waist. </p><p>“I don’t want you to be my boyfriend,” Peter said, resting his chin on Matty’s shoulder.  “Because I have already have a boyfriend and he’s a real handful.</p><p>“But I <em> need </em> you, Matty.  I need you to be my <em> High Priest </em>.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” the younger boy asked, but he didn’t sound angry anymore.  “What are you doing?” he asked as Peter pulled him close.</p><p>“Lay back and relax,” Peter said.</p><p>“I’m going to tell you a ghost story.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Five Bothersome Questions (Alright Maybe Six)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>-Is There A Price To Pay For All This?</p><p>-Why Cast A Spell That Doesn’t Work?</p><p>-Can You Possess People?</p><p>-Why Is The Noisy Room So Noisy?</p><p>-Tony, Why Did You Bring Me That?</p><p>-Tony, Do You Love Me?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Five Bothersome Questions (Alright Maybe Six)</b>
</p><p> </p><p>During the long 21 days without Tony Peter found himself with questions he had intended to ask, or now intended to ask.  Sometimes he wrote them down (usually in his “Ideas For A Novel” notebook) but mostly he kept his lists where he kept <em> all </em>his lists, in his head.</p><p>After the Dark Trinity nights were over and his uncivilized demon was talking in sentences again, Peter tried to remember to ask all his questions, but he never seemed to get around to them all.  And so the list kept adapting and changing.</p><p> </p><ol>
<li><b>Is There A Price To Pay For All This?</b></li>
<li><b>Why Cast A Spell That Doesn’t Work?</b></li>
<li><b>Can You Possess People?</b></li>
<li><strike><b>Why Is The Noisy Room So Noisy?</b></strike></li>
<li>
<b>Tony, Why Did You Bring Me </b><b><em>That</em></b><b>?</b>
</li>
<li><strike><b>Tony, Do You Love Me?</b></strike></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>                                                                                                               * * * *</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Is There A Price To Pay For All This?</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tony’s long slender fingers were pressed against his own mouth as he swallowed what he called Peter’s “ambrosia.”  He didn’t answer Peter’s question right away, but rather took the hand that was still on his head and kissed it, before guiding it down lower.  Ever since he had a “man’s yard” he liked Peter to wrap his hand around it after the feeding was done.</p><p>“Is there, Tony?”  Peter asked, pressing.  Sometimes Tony didn’t answer questions because he didn’t want to, but sometimes he didn’t answer because he didn’t understand the question.  And, sometimes, he just got distracted.</p><p>“You pay it willingly,” he said.  His hand was on Peter’s hand which was wrapped around his erection, gently stroking it.  He leaned down and gave a gentle kiss to the witchesmark.  “Every time you let me feed.”</p><p>“But that… that feels good.  It <em> all </em> feels good.  That’s why I’m asking, is there a price to pay?  For all of this?”</p><p>“You pay it nightly,” Tony answered.  He was looking at Peter curiously, like a man who wasn’t sure if he was being told a joke or not.  He was clearly confused. </p><p>“<b> <em>No</em> </b> , I mean… all the things you do for me, when you come to bed with me, I’m asking you is there a price to pay for <em> these </em> things?”</p><p>“This is the price,” Tony tried to explain.  “You pay it willingly.”</p><p>“No, you don’t understand…” Peter said, trying not to get frustrated.</p><p>“Ah,” Tony said, nodding.  He let go of Peter’s hand and brought his head close.  “Yes.”</p><p>“Oh…” Peter said, waiting.  “What is it?”</p><p>Tony smiled.  “It is something that a young man does not mind paying me <em> now </em>, something a young man pays willingly.</p><p>“<em> But in 50 years </em> , master, I <em> assure </em> you, you will find me <b> <em>very annoying</em> </b>…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Why Cast A Spell That Doesn’t Work?</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“It’s pretty complicated, Tony.  And I’m kind of busy… I’ve got about a billion other projects that I’m trying to work on <em> plus </em> now I’m teaching Matthew Portuguese…”</p><p>“But I am <em> strong enough now </em>, Master Peter.  Soon you will needs seek out the correct moon to perform the spell.  Strike while the iron is hot.”</p><p>“Okay but the <em> Summoning The King of the East and the King of the West </em> … Laura wrote down at the bottom of the spell that it <b>doesn’t</b> work.  And I’m <em> not </em> boiling any cat-meat to get the bones, Tony, and I’m sure as hell not keen on putting them in my <em> mouth </em>…”</p><p>“There are dozens of pets buried along the crossroads at the east side,” Tony said patiently.  “I’ll show you where to find the bones.  Boil them well and it will be a little matter… I will be beside you,” Tony said in a gentler voice.  He reached out one finger and gently tapped Peter’s cheek.  “What you place inside your mouth… you needn’t <em> think </em> it to be a cat-bone,” He touched Peter’s lips and gave him a sly wink.  “You might think it <em> something else </em>…”</p><p>Peter shook his head.  He <em> wanted </em> to make Tony happy, but just now it seemed to be one more thing on his endless ‘to do’ list.  “I swear, I was always told black cats were unlucky, but I found out these spellbooks are unlucky <em> for black cats. </em>   And why am I summoning Kings from East and wherever?  Laura didn’t write comments on ANY spells except for the ceremony of Felicity and Perpetua, where she wrote the date they did it, and on this spell, where she wrote down that <em> it didn’t work </em>.  If Laura and Ada couldn’t pull it off, how will I manage?” </p><p>“Ada attempted the spell upon a <em> mortal </em> lover,” Tony explained, exasperated.  "It will not work upon a mortal lover.  It <em> will </em> work upon me, <em>amado </em> .  It has been worked upon my substance <em> many </em> times.  It is an old spell, but it must be cast upon me, I cannot cast it upon myself.  It allowed me to stand in New Amsterdam and stand in the ceremonial room at the same time, that the Post brothers could speak to each other through me…”</p><p>“<em> Wait </em> ,” Peter said suddenly.  “ <em> This </em> is the spell that lets you be in two places at one time?  The King of the East and the King of the West are <em> both </em> you?”</p><p>Tony attempted to hide his exasperation.  He almost succeeded.  “Yes, as I said, and you must do the spell <em> now </em>if each King is to be of equal weight.  Otherwise the King of the East needs be stronger than the King of the West…”</p><p>“But you… you could be a cat in my lap and also be out doing your work, and we could still talk to each other…”</p><p>“Yes.  But I <em> could </em> choose to be a <em> man </em> in your bed and also out doing my tasks.”</p><p>“Alright, I get it, that’s important.  Show me where the bones are and I’ll just make it another dig.  How often do I have to do this spell?”</p><p>Tony smiled slyly.  It was the type of smile that gave Peter a little shiver.  “Once a year, it can last for 3 seasons.  But for every season, both kings must needs remain together in the same room for one night.  But that need not be <em> unpleasant </em>…”</p><p>Peter was nodding, trying to interpret Tony’s lewd smile with the to-do list going on in his head.  He was just mentally going back over the spell when he asked “Wait, what do you mean, Ada tried it on a <em> mortal </em> lover?”</p><p>When Peter slept, Tony showed him the answer.  They lay together in the rose-laden bed in Castle Dracula, wrapped up in each other’s arms, when Tony dragged over a huge leather book that Peter didn’t recognize.  When he opened it there were pictures that were moving.  And, in the logic of the dream, Peter could watch the pictures and they would become the reality of the dream himself.  He was lying in his lover’s arms, watching other men make love.</p><p>“Lysander whispered to his niece how the spell of the King of the East and the King of the West might be used within the protection of her boudoir.  She was most disappointed that it did not work.  He could not tell her why.  He enjoyed the spell most rigorously…”</p><p>Peter recognized Lysander Post immediately, although he had never seen the man’s picture.  Born John Post, Lysander had named himself after multiple Shakespearean characters until finally taking on “Lysander Post” as a stage name.  Peter could imagine he broke a lot of hearts when he finally joined the theater.  He had a beautiful lithe body, long curly black hair and the face of an angel in a painting. </p><p>His lovers both had red hair, and looked very much alike in the face, as if they were brothers.  The one closest to Peter had beautiful broad shoulders and a muscular form.  They both had pencil-thin mustaches, in the same style Lysander wore. </p><p>Peter thought they’d all be handsomer if they had beards.</p><p>“Mark you, master, that the King of the East is always stronger than the King of the West,” Tony was murmuring into Peter’s ear as they looked down at the book together.  It was true, the red-haired man on the other side of Lysander looked much younger, about Peter’s age.  That man was going down on Lysander’s erection with the same tender, loving grace that Tony always did.  The other lover was far more aggressive, forcefully holding Lysander’s arms away from his body and rocking against him with a quick rhythm… whether he was rubbing his erection against Lysander’s bare ass or something else, Peter couldn’t tell.</p><p>“Wait… they’re… <em> they’re </em> both you?”  Peter asked, his eyes wide.  Tony gave his sly smile again as he reached out and turned the page with long tapered fingers.</p><p>“But when the spell is performed at the correct time, Master Peter, each king can be <em> equal weight </em>.”</p><p>The second page showed a different time of year.  Lysander was now dressed in a long flowing nightshirt in a room with a roaring fire.  It was true, both his lovers were of equal size, with broad muscular shoulders and equally handsome faces.  (Still, they would have been more handsome with beards.)  And, Peter hadn’t noticed this before… they were both <em> very </em>well endowed, sporting erections that left Peter’s heart pounding and his mouth very dry.</p><p>But when he saw what Lysander wanted his lover’s to <em> do </em>with those large endowments he slammed the book closed and hid in Tony’s embrace.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Can You Possess People?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Peter knew Tony was thinking about the question, because he didn’t answer right away.  He had he hand behind his head and was looking at the ceiling, but he <em> also </em>had his ‘how do I explain this?  Should I explain this at all?’ look.  Peter waited patiently. </p><p>“Some… <em> novice </em> magicians…. who are not very… <em> skillful </em> … have been known to send their… <em> servants </em>… out to wealthy families to vex a member of their household.  Then the… unskilled magician… would arrive at the household, perform some ritual and… receive the payment.</p><p>“It is not an advisable enterprise.”</p><p>“Because it’s a scam?”  Peter asked.  He was fascinated now.  Tony clearly found the practice distasteful, which was different.  Tony seemed to have no value judgement on any other thing his previous masters had made him do.</p><p>“Because it often does not succeed.”</p><p>“Why?  If you make your servant ‘vex’ the person and then send the servant away…”</p><p>“It is very easy to stand beside a mortal and convince them to swear at a parent, or confess a secret, or scream or shout or weep or laugh, if they are already inclined to do these things.  They will continue to be vexed, as long as the servant is <em> in the room </em> .  But when the servant leaves the room, sometimes, they do <em> not </em> stop.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Tony shrugged.  “Once they find they <em> can </em> , why <em> should </em>they stop?”</p><p>“So, you’re not really <em> inside </em> them, you’re really just standing beside them, telling them what to do…”</p><p>“How would a servant be <em> inside </em> a mortal?”  Tony asked, but then his eyes narrowed and he smiled.  “Unless his mortal seeks out his servant…”  He lay his lips against Peter’s ear as he whispered.  “…to create his man’s yard and serve his master thus…”</p><p>Peter blushed a little as he turned his head to kiss Tony’s whispering mouth.  “Soon, <em> amado </em>.”</p><p>“I am <em> amante </em> ,” Tony chuckled.  “ <em> You </em> are <em> amado </em>.”</p><p>“Then soon, <em> amante </em>,” Peter agreed, kissing him with a smile.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strike> <b>Why Is The Noisy Room So Noisy?</b> </strike>
</p><p>Peter never asked that question.  The last time he had asked that question he had a terrible dream the same night.  He decided he could live without the answer.</p><p>
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  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Tony, Why Did You Bring Me </b> <b> <em>That</em> </b> <b>?</b></p><p>The day had started early, with Aunt May crying out so loudly Peter could hear it all the back in his room.  He had rushed to Aunt May’s rescue (in case it was a snake) but it was just that the newest cat had left her a present on the back steps.</p><p>She had named the newest cat “Christopher Columbus” because he seemed hell-bent on slaughtering the native population.</p><p>At least the gift was dead this time, Peter pointed out as he shoveled the face, lungs and guts of the critter (he was guessing a mole) into the flower bed.  Sometimes the cat dragged in gifts that were only half-dead.</p><p>When Peter opened the sturdy wooden box that had been the subject of that day’s “I destroyed-the-boulder-at-noonday-master” treasure dig on the far side of the lake, he felt like crying out the way Aunt May did.  He would have been happier finding the face, lungs and guts of another mole.  He would have been happier finding the bones of Laurence Mountain Post.</p><p>“Oh, it’s <em> beautiful</em>,” Aunt May had said, and Peter found himself looking for whatever she was talking about.  “This isn’t a diary,” Uncle Ben was saying, opening the book gingerly.  “ <em> Look </em> at this, this is called illumination.  This might be a bible, or part of one.”</p><p>“It goes in the safe,” Peter said woodenly.  All he wanted to do was go and wash his hands, knowing he had touched it.</p><p>“This could be <em> very </em> valuable,” Uncle Ben, confused by Peter’s reaction. </p><p>“Oh, I’m sure it is.  That’s probably gold,” he said, pointing to the glinting artwork on the heavy leather cover.  “And <em> that </em> might be worth something,” he said with equal distaste, pointing to the cloudy red jewel inlaid in the center.  “But for now, it goes in the safe.”</p><p>“But Peter…”</p><p>“I get this one.  You can sell the next one.  It goes in the safe.”  He turned around and left the room.</p><p>“Can you tell us what it says?” Aunt May called after him, perplexed by his reaction.</p><p>“<b>No</b>.  I don’t read German.”</p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                 * * *</p><p> </p><p>“Tony <em> why did you let me dig that up?? </em> ” Peter hissed.  He couldn’t remember being so angry at his friend.  “You <em> know </em>how I feel about the German books!”</p><p>“Old books are very valuable,” Tony said in a quiet voice, obviously crestfallen.  His shoulders sagged and his eyes dropped.  “Master Ben and the Mistress oft speak of the value of Laura’s book, but you will not part with it.  The ruby in the cover is from Rothenburg ob der Tauber and is very coveted in the old country.  And there more magic stones sewed into the binding.  Two are precious stones.  Judah Post was thought to have taken it from the forbidden room.  Took it with him when he left to find gold in <em>La República de California</em>, but in deed, he left it in the hands of his son Asher Post.  Asher Post bid me hide it.  It is a book very coveted in the old country.  It contains a spell that is said to kill a man 300 hundred leagues away.”</p><p>“You mean it has a spell that would force <em> you </em> to kill a man 300 hundred leagues away and <em>torture</em> you if you refuse to do it.”</p><p>“But… it is the old language.  It is not Latin, master.  It is in the old language of the German magicians long dead.  None alive can read the… it would fetch a great price… the Master and the Mistress say it… at the ‘auction’…” Tony said.  His head was bowed, now.  Peter wanted to wrap him up in strong arms and forgive him, but held onto his anger for a few moments longer.  Tony <em> wasn’t </em> all knowing, he had to keep reminding himself of that.   Peter put gentle fingers under Tony’s chin and lifted until Tony was looking at his eyes. </p><p>“It probably would fetch a great price at an auction, and it might get bought by a rich person who would use it as a paperweight.  But it <em> might </em> be bought by a museum, where it might wind up being studied by someone who can actually <em> read old German</em>, Tony, and who <em>might</em> just get it in their head to try some of those spells for fun.  And then there would be someone else in the world who could <em> hurt </em> you.  I can’t let that happen.”</p><p>When he thought Tony understood, he wrapped his arms around his friend’s body and held him tightly, kissing his head.  “You did very good, Tony.  That was a very good treasure you found.  The box is very pretty, it's very very pretty, and we can clean it up and show it off.  It’s very lovely.  And someday, twenty or thirty years from now, we’ll take the book out of the safe, strip the jewels out of the leather and sell them for money…”</p><p>“Aunt May does not wish to destroy the book for the jewels…”</p><p>“Well Aunt May isn’t the boss of it.  And that’s why we’re going to wait for about 20 years.  Then, when she isn’t paying attention, we’ll sell it for parts.  Maybe you can read it to me, and I can slice out all the pages I don’t like, <em> then </em> we’ll sell it to a museum who will want it to display.  And I’ll take the pages and piss on them and throw them into the lake.  Not even at Matthew’s Rock, I’ll get in a <em> boat </em> , row to the <em> middle </em> of the lake and dump them in the center where it’s deepest.  Before or after I’ve set them on fire, whichever is easiest.”</p><p>Tony seemed to understand, then.  He looked into Peter’s eyes in wonder and let himself be kissed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tony, Do You Love Me?                                  </b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Peter wondered, sometimes, why Tony never said “I love you” or “Eu te amo” whenever Peter said it.  He said many things, of course, things Peter treasured.  And he said “<em> meu amante, meu amado. </em> <b>” </b>Peter had looked it up; it meant “my lover, my beloved,” whatever that meant.  Whatever it meant, it meant a lot to Tony.  Telling Peter to “make me your beloved” or “I will make you my beloved” meant he was very happy about something.</p><p>But over the years, when Peter wondered about it, he remembered that Tony and brought him the German book.</p><p>Just like the disgusting gifts the cats brought Aunt May, Tony seemed to think he was bringing something lovely when, in fact, Peter had been disgusted.  But when Chris the Cat brought Aunt May a face, and some lungs and a liver, he hadn’t brought something that she could have used to HURT him. </p><p>Tony had given him something different.  Had actually put something into Peter’s hands that <em> could </em> have been used to hurt.  But he trusted Peter with it.  Trusted Peter not to use it against him.</p><p>And, over the years, when Peter wondered how much a demon (or whatever Tony was) <em> could </em> love, he remembered.  Remembered when Tony had brought him the German book.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Matthew Mark Luke and John (The Fate Of Quentin Beck)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If he was going to start his own church, Matthew reasoned, Peter needed disciples.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Matthew Mark Luke and John</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(The Fate of Quentin Beck)</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Matthew wanted to call it “The Church of Methuselah” but Peter said that was a terrible name for a church.  Matthew pointed out that anything was better than the name of their old church, which he called “The Church of Quentin Beck.” </p><p>If he was going to start his own church, Matthew reasoned, Peter needed disciples.</p><p>Matthew was the <em> first </em> disciple, he insisted.  Peter would have argued that <em> Peter </em>was really the first, but Matthew seemed inordinately proud of his position as “first disciple” and so Peter let it go.</p><p>The second disciple would be called the “Mark.”  Then after that would come the “Luke” and the “John.”  Because that was the order of the first four gospels, <em> not </em> the order that the disciples came in and not the order that the books were actually written in, a bit of Bible trivia Matthew delighted in explaining to anyone who would listen.  Peter had dealt with the contradictions of his culture’s religion by reading the entire Bible.  Matthew dealt with the contradictions by studying the hell out of it.</p><p>Mike, however, was dealing with the contradictions of his culture’s religion by ignoring it completely, which is why he made a very unlikely “Mark.”  But he <em> had </em> to be the second.  Matthew insisted.  Despite the fact that Mike had threatened to “beat the living tar out of” Matthew if he “turned out to be a gaywad,” Mike was joining them.  It was mostly because Mike was just as strong a digger as Peter AND now how free use of the old pick-up truck.  But Peter suspected it was also because Matty missed his older brother.</p><p>Tony solved the DeSlaughter sibling problem overnight.  Tony had assured Peter that dreamweaving was easiest when you were trying to convince someone to do what they already wanted done.  Solving Mike’s cynicism was not so easy.  He agreed to go along with the crazy stuff in Laura Foster’s diary because he helped dig it up, but he wasn’t prepared to believe in any of this “Methuselah” or “Post Family Guardian Angel” bullshit.  Mike DeSlaughter had decided that old wives tales (like you can’t get pregnant the first time, or you can’t get pregnant if you do it standing up) had ruined his life, and he didn’t want any more.  From now on he only believed in math and science.</p><p>But ‘gold bars go for $400 in NYC’ was math he could believe in.</p><p>The “Luke” of their group, much to everyone’s surprise, was John Wickham.  But when the Wickham’s had fled their ugly neighborhood and moved into the Lovelace house before they could actually rent it (Aunt May called it “squatting” and insisted it was a time-honored tradition) it put John under Tony’s watchful eye.  It was Tony that assured them that John envied their easy friendship, longed to join them in their treasure hunting and snorkel adventures.  More importantly, John and his mother, Hai-Pearl, had a few problems of their own, problems that Tony could solve. </p><p>Peter knew about their problems because Hai-Pearl and Aunt May were phone-friends now.  For a year the Wickhams had assumed their dogs and their property were being harassed because they had earned this disapproval of Philip Lovelace.  But after Philip Lovelace died it became clear the problem was their racist, hateful neighbors.  John handled Laura’s spellbook with reverence and gladly dove into learning Portuguese.  He was already fluent in Korean, a fact he had been raised to be ashamed of.  He was ready to dedicate his life to becoming tri-lingual.</p><p>The “John” of their group, although it was the subject of much disappointment and derision, was Monica DeSlaughter. </p><p>She discovered them at treasure-disenchanting by accident.  She was a wiz at herb-gathering and even better and drawing concentric triangles freehand.  And she believed in the Post Family Guardian Angel without hesitation.  She had met him, she insisted.  He was the best friend of Superbarbie.  Still, Matthew, Mark and Luke never ceased to remind her that she was only an “assistant.” </p><p>She was, after all, a girl.</p><p> </p><p>
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  <br/>
</p><p>                                                                                                                    * * * * *</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Having three of his four disciples with him made disenchanting the “sunny patch” a piece of cake.  Peter and Monica staked out the interlocking triangles with yarn and golf tees, then John and Matthew simply followed the yarn with their leaking bags of flour.  All told it took 10 bags of flour to draw the symbol over the 40-by-40 foot space.  Everyone agreed it was a thing of beauty.</p><p>Mike couldn’t be there that day because he had to drive Sarah D to her doctor’s appointment.  But there were still four of them at each corner, pouring out the rosemary-ash-buckthorn-sowthistle-and-ragweed  water simultaneously as Peter called out “I baptise this ground in the name of the Father, the Son and the Post-Ghost.”</p><p>Because Mike wasn’t there, Peter and Matthew only had John and Monica to describe the scene at Eli Road Baptist the night before.  John and his family had front row seats, but when Quentin started flinging his gay-porn magazines into the congregation Hai-Pearl and insisted they all go home.  Monica had been in the teen room when it had happened so all her information was from Mike and her parents.  Matthew and Peter grinned as they dug, alternating between the two post-hole diggers and the multiple shovels.  They had both solemnly vowed to never step foot in Eli Road Baptist Church again, a decision which they rather regretted now.  Apparently, Quentin’s “Nightfall Sermon” had been spectacular.  They called it the “Nightfall Sermon” because they could calculate the exact moment that it began – the moment the sun had set, the moment Tony had entered the building. </p><p>The Reverend Beck had apparently said something about the church being obsessed with homosexuality although the word “homosexuality” only appearing in the Bible after the year 1946.  (That one was from Peter.)</p><p>The Reverend Beck accused the entire church of being “hypocrites.” (That came from Matthew and Peter both.)</p><p>And he had said <em> something </em>about convincing the congregation to be “afraid of Dungeons &amp; Dragons and the queers taking over the country” but never being afraid of the “preacher seducing your young men behind your back” and “preying upon the vulnerable.”  (Matthew again.)</p><p>He apparently did <em> not </em> get to explain that the Cold War was fizzling out and pastors needed something new to scare people with, something to fill the pews.  That one had been Peter’s via Uncle Ben.  Although Monica did say that people heard him shouting <em> something </em> about the Cold War from the parking lot as the deacons hauled him out of the building.</p><p>Matthew and Peter exchanged many proud, knowing smiles as they dug.  Defining the outline of the underground room went very quickly.  They only had to prove that the room existed, not actually dig it up.  Soon they had the four corners clearly defined; 5-foot deep postholes on the outside of the building, 2 ½ - foot deep shovel-dug holes revealing the roof.  The three boys dug and talked and joked easily.  Only Monica refused to follow directions, digging directly in the center of the sunny patch despite being told, over and over again, that there was no point.</p><p>The sad news, unfortunately, was that Quentin’s <em> complete </em> sermon, the sermon that Peter and Matthew had written and carefully taught to Tony, had not been delivered.  Or at least had not been heard over the scuffle that was the forcible removal of the Reverend Quentin Beck from the building.  Even more unfortunate was what <em> was </em> heard… that if the congregation spent less time demonizing queers and more time teaching their children about sex they wouldn’t have so many teen pregnancies.</p><p>Matthew and Peter both wondered if they owned Sarah D. an apology for that one, even though that was <em> not </em> in the sermon that they had written.  Still, Peter whispered to Matty, it <em> was </em> their fault it happened.  Tony had warned him – if a demon forced a human to start confessing secrets, or lecturing a church on their moral failings, the human tended not to stop.  Tony could only make Quentin <em> feel </em> forced to repeat his words, he couldn’t <em> actually </em> make Quentin talk.  Or stop talking.  And Mike and Sarah D. had really, really wished that Quentin would stop talking.  But they could make it up to her, Peter insisted.  Once she moved in with the DeSlaughters she would fall under the category of “Matthew’s family” and thus under Tony’s protection.  It wouldn’t be hard for Matty to get her to confess which friends or neighbors were gossiping about her, and what rumors she’d like to squash.  Tony could take care of rumors as easily as he took care of the rats in the basement.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                              * * *</p><p> </p><p>The house was empty because Aunt May and Uncle Ben, along with several other adults, were attending a church meeting about the Beck situation.  Apparently the meeting did not go well, judging by the irritation in Uncle Ben’s voice when he arrived home. </p><p>“I did <em> not </em> authorize this dig Peter Parker!”  he exploded, rounding the corner of the house and finding Peter and 3 of his 4 disciples in the north yard full of holes. Peter was unfazed by his reaction, or by the fact that he was trailed by the DeSlaughters <em> and </em> the Wickhams.  He was too excited to be fazed.  He met the crowd of confused adults with a shovel in hand and a huge grin.</p><p>“Good news, Aunt May!  You can have your sunny patch garden.  You have a little more than 2 ½ feet of dirt to work with.  The bad news is, you’re going to need a <em> lot </em> more fencing.” </p><p>John, also grinning, used the yardstick from the house to demonstrate.  The 5-foot holes.  The 2 ½ foot holes.  “It’s a 40 by 40 foot room, just like Peter said.”</p><p>“But… what is it?”  Ben asked, baffled.</p><p>“It’s the Posts’ secret underground room,” Peter said with confidence.</p><p>“That may or may not contain the body of Tom Dylan Post,” Matthew called out from where he sat.  “But we’ll find out.”</p><p>“But… no… it’s just an old… a foundation, from one of the old buildings that Evan Post took down…” Uncle Ben said, his face full of doubt.</p><p>“Maybe it’s just a cement pad, like an old patio, or the beginning of a building that was never made?”  Mr. DeSlaughter suggested.</p><p>“We considered that,” Peter said with a bigger grin.  “And then your daughter insisted on digging a big hole in the middle.”</p><p>Peter allowed Monica to display her find with a flourish and yet another “I told you so.”  The boys had pried up the metal plate with crowbars, easily removing it from the stone.  The adults gathered around the thick round circle, roughly 5 feet across.  Peter’s disciples passed them the flashlights they had brought to shine through the glass.</p><p>“This style is called “Gothic Revival,” Hai-Pearl informed the hushed crowd.  She had been studying art in New York City when she had first met John’s dad.  “Which means it could date back to the 1750s, but could also be as late as 1930’s.  This is ‘plate tracery’, it’s decorative, but it’s also to support the window.  This window is called ‘curvilinear’... but it shouldn’t be… it should be <em> vertical </em>, not horizontal… unless it’s…”</p><p>“It’s a skylight to the underground room,” Peter said confidently.</p><p>“But why… but why…”  Ben was practically speechless.  “Why build… a 40-by-40 … underground room… behind the house?”</p><p>“The real question,” Peter said with a grin, leaning on his shovel, “Is… <em> how do we get in?” </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Uncle Ben.  St. Cyprian.   Superheroes.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Uncle Ben.  St. Cyprian.   Superheroes.</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was nearly 11 at night.  The crowd had <em> finally </em>left the house.  Aunt May had bathed and was sitting in her nightgown, having a hushed conference with Peter when Uncle Ben marched towards the other side of the house, armed with a crowbar and a flashlight.</p><p>“I know where the entrance is,” was all he would say.</p><p>Peter wasn’t surprised.  Nothing surprised him anymore.</p><p>Aunt May stripped the mattress they had leaned against the wall.  The bedframe collapsed when they tried to move it.  Ben declared it would all go to the dump.  Along with the ugly, lumpy carpet they were rolling up now.</p><p>“It’s been here this whole time,” Ben said, slack-jawed, as they looked at what had been hidden under that dreadful carpet, that somehow matched the unsightly, crooked wallpaper.  “This whole time.  We’ve been looking right at it.”</p><p>“It<b><em>is </em> </b> settling!! ”  Peter cried out suddenly, as the two of them grasped the massive iron handle and pulled the trapdoor open with a massive creak.  “The house <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> settling! </em>   That’s where the noise is <em> coming </em> from!  The underground room <em> is part of the house </em> and it’s been settling… right underneath us!”</p><p>The little family looked down into the dark rectangle that the wooden door revealed.  The solemn staircase leading downward was made of stone.  It looked steady enough.  Peter wondered if it was “Gothic Renaissance” too.  </p><p>“If there’s a mausoleum down there, we’re moving,” Aunt May declared in no uncertain terms.</p><p>
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</p><p>                                                                                                      * * * * *</p><p> </p><p>It was very late at night, or maybe very early in the morning, as Peter lay in bed waiting for Tony.  He hid under the blankets, hid from the <em> enormity </em> of it all.  His whole body was vibrating from exhaustion and adrenaline.  He longed for his friend to come and relieve him of some of it.</p><p>“Oh Tony,” was all he could say when the dark figure appeared in the bed with him.  He pulled Tony under the covers with him, kissing him hard.  “Don’t talk, don’t say anything you’re not allowed to say.  Just… just do this.”  He pulled his shirt off and led Tony’s mouth down to the witchesmark.  He held his friend tight and stroked his head over and over again, whispering his thanks, whispering words of love.</p><p>When Tony had fed  (and taken care of other things) Peter could finally relax enough to find words to express it all.</p><p>“It’s so beautiful, Tony,” Peter told him.  He looked up into Tony’s dark face, stroking it with his fingertips.  “Is it a <em> library</em>?  The family library?  But why are all the paintings wrapped up and stacked to the side?  Is that why Ezra Post closed it up and threw a carpet over the door, because he didn’t care about books?  It looks like a church.  We called the Wickhams and John’s mom is coming back tomorrow, but she said since those two statues are on the east side of the room that means it’s a church.  We thought it was Ezra Post and Beatrice Avis, but she says if the woman is on the <em> left </em>side then it’s the Virgin Mary, and that’s what it looks like to us too.  She says it’s just like any Catholic church, the patron saint of the country is on the left and the other is the saint that the church is named after.  That’s why the Virgin Mary is on the left and the other guy, whoever it is…”</p><p>“’Tis St. Cyprian,” Tony said gently.  “’Tis his chapel.” </p><p>“Oh, but… it was so beautiful.  Why was it a secret?”</p><p>“It <em> wasn’t </em> a secret,” Tony said patiently, although he was obviously confused by the question.  “It was an underground chapel of St. Cyprian, created for Little-Michaela, when she reached her 50th year.  Thomas Post was a wealthy man.  I made him a wealthy man.  He made his wife’s mother an underground chapel of St. Cyprian, such as she had known in Cueva de Salamanca.”</p><p>“But… there’s no church-things in it… unless <em> that’s </em> what’s in those big chests.  It’s just all those bookcases, and the chests, and all the wrapped up paintings, and the books.”</p><p>Tony nodded.  “The other rooms, the secret rooms, where the books were locked away, they did flood.   But not <em> my </em> chapel.  <em> My </em> chapel would never see water.   The important things were kept there.  Kept safe…</p><p>“Is that why the paintings… oh Tony the paintings,” Peter breathed with wonder.  “There are <em> so </em> many.  And Hai-Pearl says some of them must be from artists that came here, and some of those artists got to be really famous.  We unwrapped two... their both of your South House. I want to keep those.  But maybe some of them… Tony… everything we find on the property is our property.  Uncle Ben called our our lawyer in the middle of the night and she said so.  Could we sell some?  Would that be alright?”</p><p>Suddenly Tony’s face broke out in a relieved smile.  “The treasure?  Is it good?  I have served you well?”</p><p>Peter hugged him fiercely.  “Yes, Tony.  It is <em> perfect</em>.  No desecrated Indian graves.  That’s a very good thing. </p><p>“But those books… a lot of them were in German.  But they don’t look like spellbooks, they just look like regular books…”</p><p>“Nehemiah’s books and Beatrice’s’ books, they were kept in the secret rooms.  But the rooms flooded so they were moved to the chapel.  Then, when the chapel was no longer used, yes, the room <em> DID </em> become a library.  Many of the family books were moved there.  In time, it became the only library…”</p><p>“And the German books?”</p><p>“Evan Post took the spellbooks from the room and placed them in the fireplace.  Then I carried him to the lake where he cast it all in.”</p><p>“<em>All </em> of his fathers’ spellbooks?  You’re sure you got <em> all </em> of them?”</p><p>“Of course I'm sure.” Tony looked a little offended at the idea.  Peter’s body sagged in relief and he flung grabbed Tony’s face and kissed him hard.  “Then the rest of the books are just <em> books </em> … oh Tony I couldn’t <em> believe </em> how many.  Oh Tony, some of those Bibles, Hai-Pearl is going to call someone who knows but Uncle Ben said museums would pay money for them.  And all the journals!  And the family logs and the... oh Tony the journals!!  I’ll be reading them for the rest of my life, Tony!”</p><p>“My library-pilgrim,” Tony crooned, kissing him on the mouth.  “Now you shall never leave your home, your library is here.”</p><p>“Tony, who is ‘Abram Sacristanus?’  Is that Abe Sexton?”</p><p>Tony nodded without speaking.</p><p>“Is that… was that his actual name?”</p><p>“It was… it was the name he... wrote,” Tony said hesitantly.</p><p>“It was his pen name?  Then they <b> <em>are </em> </b> <em> his. </em>   Oh Tony I found Abe Sexton’s journals… oh there are so <em> many… </em>” Peter wrapped his arms around a silent Tony and hugged him fiercely, kissing his solemn face.</p><p>“Listen,” he said, pulling away a little.  “The other’s are coming tomorrow.  Those barrister’s bookcases, most of them are still locked, and we’re not sure how we’re going to get them open.  But that’s okay, because I’ll need time to… I’ll have to convince everyone that the Portuguese books can only be handled by women.  Which is going to be hard because there’s only one girl in our club.  Not that we’ll be <em> really </em> touching them because we’ll have gloves on, we’ll order more.  So I don’t know…”</p><p>Tony pulled his hands free and cupped Peter’s face on both sides. </p><p>“Sweet Peter, the spellbooks are sealed against <em> brothers</em>.  You are not a <em> brother </em>.  Neither is  your disciple “Luke.”  There are three of the five that can open the books…”</p><p>“But not Matthew.”</p><p>Tony shook his head sadly.  “Not your High Priest. </p><p>“But… does not your High Priest… have a camera?”</p><p>Peter began to smile.  “And then, if he copied them into his <em> own </em> book…”</p><p>“A Brother’s Book.  For the brothers.  For your High Priest.” </p><p>Peter grinned from ear to ear, kissed Tony again and hugged him hard.  He felt giddy with excitement.  If they were standing he would have picked up Tony and swung him around the room.</p><p>“Was it <em> you</em>?  Were you making all the noise in the Noisy Room?”    </p><p>Tony became very still.  Peter pulled away to look him in the face.  Tony’s eyes were dropped, and he looked solemn.  Resigned.  He shook his head no. </p><p>“How could I tell you?” he whispered.  “It was beyond my ken.  It was not done in the monastery; the monastery had never known that magic. <em>  I  </em>had never known that magic.”  He looked humbled, chastened.  “It was a stranger to me.”</p><p>“I don’t… <em> what </em> magic, Tony?”</p><p>“The books, master.  <b> <em>They’re calling to you</em></b><em>. </em>   You put your hands on their sister, you read her words out loud.  They heard you.  <em> They want you</em>.  They <em> wanted </em> to be found.”</p><p>Peter scooted up on the bed a bit so he could hold Tony’s head to his chest.  He stroked Tony’s head and rubbed a strong hand down his back, trying to understand it all.  Finally, something occurred to him.  He took Tony’s face in his hands and brought their foreheads together.</p><p>“Tony… are you… jealous?  Are the books… are these <em> spirits </em>?  Spirits like you?  Are you… afraid I’m going to call up more servants besides you?”</p><p>Tony closed his eyes, defeated.</p><p>“Well I’m not <em> going </em> to, so they’ll just have to wait until John learns Portuguese and calls up a few of his own,” Peter said with a grin.  “Because I know if <em> I </em> summon anything you’ll just tear them to pieces, and I <em> don’t want to give you the extra work</em>.  I’ve got things for you to do, a <em>lot</em> of other things I need you to do…”</p><p>Tony smiled a little bit.  Peter kissed the smile.  “I’m going to make you <em> so strong</em>, Tony.  I’m going to set Seals of Evorá all over this place..." </p><p>Tony's eyes were still closed, but his smile grew.  "I'm going to make them in circles and rectangles and triangles and shapes I've made up... I'm going to put one in front of every door of this house and one right under by bed.  I’m going to do the King of the East and the King of the West spell <em> twice </em> and there’s going to be <em> four </em> of you..." </p><p>Tony came to life in Peter's arms, pulling Peter close and nuzzling close with a suggestive purr.  "My wise and clever master, my sophic magician.  But how will he feed two Kings of the East and two Kings of the West?  All the Kings must needs come together before the seasons close, how will they all sup at once?  You will feed one King from the vein..."  He licked his way over the vein in Peter's neck.  "And one from your fingers and one from your mark, ah, but <em>where will the fourth King feed</em>?" he asked teasingly, his hand reaching lower.</p><p>"Stop..." Peter giggled, catching the hand before it went anywhere (but knowing he was going to ask more questions about that later.)  "I'm being serious...</p><p>“Oh Tony,"  Peter said, taking Tony's head in both hands and looking him square in the eye.  "I’m not sure you know what you gave to me,” Peter said, trying to make himself understood. </p><p>“You made all of my dreams come true.  You gave me a Hall of Justice.  Me and Matthew and the disciples, we’re going to be <em>superheroes</em>.  Real superheroes.  This is everything.  We’re going to live right here in Devil’s Holler, and when we have to, we’re going to go down into our Hall of Justice and <em>save the world</em>.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. When The Master Commands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>When The Master Commands</b>
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</p><p> </p><p>Peter worked carefully and nervously on the details.  He <em> tried </em> not to be nervous.  Tony was <em> never </em> nervous.  Then again, Tony was the dreammaster.  Peter was still new at this.  And when he controlled the dreams things got… weird.  Still, most of the dreamspace they were in, Tony had already created.  That gave him some confidence.</p><p>Peter paced in the rose-strewn bedroom, waiting for Tony to arrive.  He couldn’t fuss with his clothing anymore.  He had on a lovely, well-fitting white shirt, with billowing sleeves (but not too billowing) and tight black pants that he <em> hoped </em> looked as good as they felt.  But he hadn’t put a mirror in this room, so he didn’t know.  Now he was just walking around the room, trying to add some details of his own.  Replaced the red roses with some white ones, which he laid across the creamy white bed.  He thought he would light the candles, but the candles were already lit.  So he added a fire in the fireplace.  He hoped Tony would like it.  But mostly, he worried as he waited.</p><p>He was exhausted from the past four days.  Going down at first light and working in the chapel of St. Cyprian until the night, moving, cleaning, organizing, but mostly reading.  Lots and lots of reading.  Learning.  Theorizing.  Reacting.  Mourning.  Then reading more.</p><p>Then, by night, he lay in Tony’s arms, silent.  They kissed.  Tony fed.  Tony made him feel good.  But that was all.  Then Peter would dismiss his servant, send him past the seals, to check on the others and then to eat.  Peter lay under his blankets, alone with his thoughts.</p><p>But they weren’t exactly his thoughts.  They were the thoughts of Abe Sexton.</p><p>What he had read in the church-turned-library had been… disturbing.  But he had no one to discuss it with.  Not even Matthew, not yet.  All other discussion was about inventories, values of things, money.  The lawyer was arriving tomorrow to get a tour and go over their property rights with them, but to Peter it was a non-issue.  If anyone showed up to claim they didn’t own what they found under their own house, well, Tony was very good at changing minds.  <em> Very </em> good.</p><p>But <em> no one </em> was thinking what Peter was thinking.  No one could.  They weren’t reading what he was reading, they didn’t know what he knew.  And what Peter knew was putting things into a perspective he didn’t know existed, and really didn’t want.  But researching was what Peter <em> did </em> (he <em> was </em> the Masked-Librarian after all) and what he learned he couldn’t unlearn.  And he had absolutely no one to talk to about it.  And that made him sullen and angry and withdrawn. </p><p>But no more.  Tony was his friend.  <em> Tony </em> would understand.  Well… Peter <em> hoped </em> he could make Tony understand.  That’s why he called for the dreammeeting.  Hopefully, in this place, he could make himself better understood.</p><p>The huge leather book lying on the bed took him by surprise.  He hadn’t put it there.  He wasn’t sure if it was a detail from Tony, or else left there from a previous dream.  He pulled it over to him with two hands and sat down to read.</p><p>The first pictures were obscene.  They were from that long-lost magazine that had been drowned in the lake years ago.  Some pictures he recognized, others he had never seen.  But he recognized the cheesy 70’s mustaches.  They didn’t bother him anymore, although he still sympathized with the boy who found them so disturbing.  He turned the pages to find something more interesting.</p><p>What he found next were woodcut pictures of bedrooms in the Post Homestead, and men that must have been members of the Post family.  Some of the pictures moved, of course, allowing Peter to witness intimate moments in between those men and their household servant.  The one they called Methuselah. </p><p>Peter winced at the pictures, Abe Sexton had warned him about these secret midnight meetings.  Yet he watched them carefully as the story played out.  One of the Post brothers, maybe Nehemiah or someone else, on top.  Methuselah underneath.  Face down.  Face hidden in the pillow.  The man on top finished with a grunt, then relaxed, face peaceful.  He went straight to sleep.  Methuselah, underneath him, had dissolved into the bed and disappeared.</p><p>Peter shook his head in distaste.  He understood why Abe had been so disgusted.  Yet couldn’t deny that the scene <em> did </em> look… comfortable.  The man had gotten what he wanted, and then he went to sleep.  Methuselah had fed from the passion of the encounter, however much passion there had been, and then left to take care of his other duties to his house and land.  Both individuals in the room were satisfied with the exchange.  Still, Peter couldn’t imagine it.  Couldn’t imagine being with is Tony and doing <em> that </em>… doing any version of it… and not holding each other afterward.</p><p>He kept turning pages in the book.  There were so many pictures, but of course, there were hundreds of years worth of stories here.  Mostly of the animals Methuselah guarded, of the buildings he had created.  Trips to New York City.  Standing in an office in the city in the morning light, while also standing in the dining room in the house, delivering messages.  A terrible picture of a businessman in an old fashioned suit jumping out of his office window, and Methuselah taking the news back home.  A nervous young man being presented in the parlor to a group of grinning Post daughters.  Many artists sitting around the South House painting in the sunlight.  A group of alarmed-looking black men, clutching their instrument cases close to them, joking with each other, pretending not to be alarmed.  They were being escorted safely through Devil’s Holler to the road to New York City.  Every Post male who could be spared was there, escorting them.  Every Post male was armed.  Methuselah was traveling with them, would protect them until the noonday hours forced him to retreat.  The Post men looked grim and angry.  The town had insulted their guests, and they did not take that lightly.</p><p>Lysander Post reclining on a fancy sofa with two brothers, one older, one younger.  Not brothers, Peter realized, but two versions of the Methuselah.  It was a comfortable picture.  They were lounging, touching, talking.  Peter knew they were lovers, but at the moment they looked more like conspirators.  Peter wondered what they were planning.</p><p>Here was another picture of Lysander on stage.  Here, a picture of three men with shovels, digging up what Peter assumed would be the graves of Native Americans to steal their stuff.  Here was a picture of women dancing in a circle in the woods.  In a glade.  Beside a lake.  Here was the South House, here was the Chapel of St. Cyprian.  Here was a long list of categories of snakes.</p><p>“I was tasked to protect the animals,” Tony had said.  To drive away the snakes… take messages… to protect the women… but it is difficult to recall.”</p><p>But Peter suspected Tony <em> did </em> recall.  Peter suspected Tony remembered it all.</p><p>On impulse, Peter turned the heavy pages until he came to the end.  Yes, it was there.  A glossary of sorts.  Lists of words, both in Portuguese and in English.  Peter read the words with fascination. </p><p>Even when the words hurt.  Even when the words brought tears to his eyes.</p><p>Because it was so much worse than he thought.  So, so much worse.</p><p>He was sitting on the bed, hand over his mouth fighting back the tears as he read the words.  As he read what the words meant.  He fought back the tears until the knock came at the bedroom door.  </p><p>Tony had arrived.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. What Else Can The Servant Do (The Demon Speaks)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In all his time in the realm of men, Amduscias was a most shrewd and clever servant.  The minds of mortals were open books to him.  Learning the languages of new worlds were nothing to him, not when the thoughts of mortals were always the same.  Most were dull.  Few were bright.  All longed for something.  And Amduscias could find the most artful cures for longing.</p><p>In two thousand years he had only served two masters whose thoughts he could not understand.  The second was his gentle library-pilgrim.  The first was Abe Sexton.</p>
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  <strong>What Else Can The Servant Do </strong>
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  <strong>(The Demon Speaks)</strong>
</p><p>From the decrepit portcullis, from a broken battlement, from a tall black window, Amduscias watched his young master set out for the rose-strewn bedroom.  Watching, waiting to be summoned.  Waiting, and hiding.  Hiding like a coward.  Baffled.  Afraid.</p><p>He did not stand upon the decrepit portcullis, nor on the broken battlement, nor at the dark window.  He <em> was </em> the portcullis.  <em>Was</em> the jagged battlement.  Was the large arched window set into the wall, was the opening to the coffin-like hallway.  In his master’s castle the shadows were many, and he was one.</p><p>He could have also been a candelabra in the opulent bedroom, been a stitch in the pattern in the heavy curtain, been a long-stemmed red rose.  <em> Had </em> been a long-stemmed rose, up until the moment his young master touched him. </p><p>His master was full of stormy doubt and strange purpose.  Quivered with it.  And as desperately as Amduscias tried to read the words that lay in his master’s head, read those foreign words in that strange alphabet, he could not.  And that terrified him.  He fled.  His master paced in the rose-strewn bedroom alone.</p><p>There were only a few words there that he <em> did </em> understand, and those words chilled him to the bone.  His gentle master had been studying the words of Abe Sexton and that hate, that rancor, was poisoning him.  Covering over his eyes with <em> tumores </em> Amduscias could not consume.  Soon his gentle master might be blind and Amduscias was helpless to intercede.</p><p>Amduscias should have been proud that his chapel had been found, but now he cursed the day he showed his master where it lay.  He had been tasked to create a beautiful chapel that would fill every parishioner’s heart with joy and wonder.  Had been tasked by his <em> princesa Ada </em>  to make it all the <em> more </em> beauteous for her <em> Ligação de Felicidade e Perpetua. </em>   For Abe Sexton, who, she believed, would someday seek the <em> Ligação de David e Jonathan </em>within its walls.  Showing his master and the Disciples his holy chapel was an easy matter.  Keeping his work of art pristine, and displaying it to fill hearts with joy and wonder, was one of his many tasks.</p><p>Of course he had also been tasked to hide the books from strangers, but dancing through jagged edges of contradictory tasks was an artform Amduscias had learned ages ago.  His new master saw the answers in dreams so deep he never knew they were there. </p><p>Now should be a time of pride.  A time of praise.  His young master and the new Disciples (and their guardians) had entered his chapel with hearts full of wonder and joy. </p><p>But Amduscias wasn’t rejoicing.  The jagged battlements, the ink-black windows, trembled with fear.</p><p>Of all the books that had been hidden there, <em> why </em> did his gentle library-pilgrim reach for <em> Abe Sexton? </em>   After the months that Peter had longed for, had searched for, and dreamed of the books <em> and they were all there </em> .  The <span class="u">Last Book of St. Cyprian</span> <span class="u">.</span>  <span class="u"> <em> Thesouro de Feiticeiro </em> </span> .   How Amduscias longed to take his master by the hand and read to him and showed him where <span class="u"> The Book Of Athanasio </span> contradicted <span class="u">The Book of the Student.</span>   Show him the stories in <span class="u"> Witches of Evora </span> that the children had acted out on saints’ days.  Whisper to him all the secrets behind the spells in the <span class="u">Almanac of Tia Micaela</span>.  Instead he cowed in darkness in fear.  His master had turned his back on all the books he had dream about and instead discovered the impossible demands of Abe Sexton and there was nothing to do but hide.</p><p>Only once in recent memory had he ever fled in such terror.  The moment he realized Evan Post’s garbled German words were an attempt to banish Amduscias back to the Infernal Realm.  In horror he had hidden in the darkness underneath Evan’s childhood bed.  Two thousand years ago he had been summoned from the Infernal Realm to the world of men, and the memory of that journey was as painful as a cannonball wound.  Being torn from his world was an insult, but the journey between the worlds was agony.  The winds that blew between the worlds had pierced him through a body that had never existed until that moment.  Evan Post was not a strong enough magician to force him to take that journey again -- perhaps there was no magician strong enough to force him back into that pain.</p><p>Two thousand years ago, when Amduscias had arrived in the dark monastery and appeared inside the unbreakable seal, he was murderous with agony and fear and rage.  Just like all his kind.  And like many of his kind, he gladly submitted himself to slavish obedience of the magic words in exchange for warmth, for food, for companionship.</p><p>He had never met any of his kind that <em> hadn’t </em> submitted themselves. </p><p>Those that wouldn’t submit were simply destroyed.</p><p>For two thousand years he had existed in the realm of men.  Had fed on cattle and swine and hope.  Had questioned and argued and created and destroyed.  Had fed on longing and the satisfaction of longing.  Had fed on loneliness and the contentment that can only exist when loneliness ends.  Had fed on dreams of power and the thrill of obtaining that power and the aching disappointment when no more power could be obtained.  Had fed on infatuation and love and jealousy and betrayal and reconciliation and content. </p><p>And he had fed on art.  Had feasted his eyes upon blue and red and violet and spring green and pink and cerise and cerulean.  Chestnut and forest green and yellow and indigo and olive and orchid and umber and robin’s egg blue. Rose and crimson and scarlet and blush and bloodred.   In the monastery he had vexed many of the monks as that sat at their illuminations with his constant questions, begging for the names of their endless colors.  He was often punished for his never-ending questions.  Until the day he met Brother Herman who was happy to have a student who was so curious, so long as that same student had a human body resembling a burly man with a sizable yard who was equally curious in bed.</p><p>In all his time in the realm of men, Amduscias was a most shrewd and clever servant.  The minds of mortals were open books to him.  Learning the languages of new worlds were nothing to him, not when the thoughts of mortals were always the same.  Most were dull.  Few were bright.  All longed for something.  And Amduscias could find the most artful cures for longing.</p><p>In two thousand years he had only served two masters whose thoughts he could not understand.  The second was his gentle library-pilgrim.  The first was Abe Sexton.</p><p>Abe Sexton who had baffled Amduscias with impossible demands.  Tasking him to answer questions about men that never lived.  To destroy magic objects that did not exist.  To find spellbooks that had never been written. </p><p>Amduscias adored Abe Sexton the same way he had adored Ada and Lysander.  Loved their bright, active, demanding minds.  For Ada, he would weave beautiful works of art.  For Lysander, create endless combinations of bodies and names for their bedplay.  But for Abe Sexton he could do nothing.  Abe Sexton made wishes that Amduscias could not grant, and the frustration left him weak and aching. </p><p>Where there had been five black windows, there were now four.  Where the portcullis had stood on two feet it now drunkenly leaned on one.  The tower, however, remained.  Hiding.  Remembering.  Trembling.</p><p>In the bedroom, Master Peter was done arranging his clothing.  Was done rearranging the roses.  He had created a fire in the fireplace.  Soon he would notice Amduscias’ absence.  Soon, he would speak the words out loud.  Amduscias would be unable to disobey.</p><p>In desperation, Amduscias created the book, and lay in upon the bed.  Filled it with the many, many stories of his triumphs.  Filled it with the lists of all the wonderful things that he could do.  With the ways he could serve his master.  He wondered if he could fill the bed with books.  Maybe then his library-pilgrim would turn away hateful books in the room below…</p><p>…but he had miscalculated.  Badly.  Peter’s eyes were filling with tears and his brainpan was full, again, with those impossible words Amduscias was helpless to understand.</p><p>Only once in recent memory had he ever felt such horror... no.  There <em> had </em> been another moment.    The night he had brought such triumph to his new young magician, only to lay in his arms, breathless and helpless, begging forgiveness for breaking one of the very few sacred commandments.  “ <em> I am not your master </em> ,” his master had said and Amduscias had shaken with terror.  Had his kind been given tears to shed, he would have shed them.  Abe Sexton had often said such words but, while they pained Amduscias to the core, they had not left him so <em> shaken </em>.  For even while he stood in Abe Sexton’s room, masterless, he also lay in Lysander’s bed, studied Ada’s sketchbook, flickered in Little-Michaela’s shrine, harmonized in Nana-Justina’s prayers.  Abe Sexton had set him on impossible tasks, charging him with words he did not understand.  But in the Post Household Amduscias always had an endless list of tasks to fulfill.  The young master tried to cast him out, but there were multiple mortals still happy to take him in.  Sometimes Abe Sexton could just be ignored.   </p><p>But now there was only <em> one </em> magician for Amduscias to serve.  The only one Amduscias wanted.  And at this moment his novice-magician’s mind was filled with the same words Abe Sexton had assailed him with, words Amduscias could not comprehend.</p><p>If he could rage at his master, he would rage now.  Would erupt with fury.  Would become eight feet tall and rip up the trees and roar at the sky.  Amduscias had known creatures like him to rise up and kill their Masters in their wrath, even as the pain of the insurrection destroyed them.  For the very first time he understood why.  He had waited <em> so long </em> to win Peter, so long to become solid again.  Waited for two years.  Two years of silence and loneliness and near-starvation, waiting for the boy with the light to look for him again.  Waiting for the strength to talk.  Knowing that he only had to be strong enough to <em> ask questions </em>in order to win the trust of the boy would become his master.  Knowing damn well his master was not even a magician, would know not a single spell to make him stronger.  To comfort him.  To feed him better.  So he waited, weak and hungry and half-formed.  Still, he had waited.</p><p>In his whole existence, he had never been more patient.  So determined.  So starved.  He had waited.  He had waited for more than two years.</p><p>If he had fists, he would have clenched them.  For now his novice-magician’s brainpan was filled with the same nonsensical words as Abe Sexton and <em> why was that? </em>   Only because Amduscias had brilliantly led his library-pilgrim into the Post Family library and his Master Doctor <em> had reached for the wrong book. </em></p><p>If he had eyes, he would have narrowed them.  Because Amduscias had knowledge inside him that he shouldn’t have had... a deep, secret knowledge that had never been held by any of his kind.  A knowledge that he never should have held himself, would not have held, if it weren’t for Tom Dylan Post.</p><p>To kill Tom Dylan, the son of his master, should have caused an agonizing pain inside Amduscias’ body that, although not completely destroying him (because he was following a direct order from the son of his master) should have left him weak and helpless for days on end, hiding in the earth, only able to answer if forced to by calling spell.  He knew this, but never hesitated to fulfill Tom Dylan’s final request, happily accepting the affliction to follow in exchange for revenge against the young master for his crime.</p><p>He took Tom Dylan’s life, and found, much to his surprise, that it hurt him not at all.</p><p>For hours upon hours he let his young master suffer through a slow and agonizing cruciation, amazed that it caused Amduscias no pain whatsoever.</p><p>No pain, and no effort.</p><p>Even when he took the form of Laura Foster herself.  Even when he knelt before Tom Dylan, bleeding profusely from two arms that ended below the wrists, repeating Laura’s final words over and and over again, even as Tom Dylan begged for mercy.  He begged with his mind, of course, not with his mouth, Amduscias had made certain of that.  But even so, Amduscias was certain it didn’t matter.  That night he found no seal, neither new nor ancient, could touch him in his fury.  All night long he watched his master's son suffer.  Causing pain.  Drinking pain.  The ancient bewitchments binding him to obedience, bewitchments that had bound his being since he had first come to the mortal plane… they seemed to dissipate like morning dew in the holy circle of his anger and hate.  </p><p>It was a knowledge none of demonkind had ever found...who would dare to find it?  But Amduscias had found it… and found that destroying a young master in righteous anger, far from causing him pain, had made him <em> stronger </em>.    </p><p>He had never used that hard-won knowledge.  Had never need to use it.  </p><p>Until tonight.</p><p>His rage, and his fear, shook the entire corner of the castle.  He shook with the terror of the knowledge that he could do it - he could destroy his interpret library-pilgrim without destroying himself.  It would leave him masterless, but wasn't his gentle master, poisoned by the words of Abe Sexton, plotting to make him masterless as well?  The agony would not last long… there were other boys, boys and girls as well, living so very close to his sovereign land who would not deny his service.  They dreamed as well.  They schemed as well.  They did not have the sweet, succulent light that his own master had, but they had a different kind of light of their own.  Filling, if not as sweet.  If he was alone, he would not be alone for long.</p><p>He couldn’t wait any longer.  Soon he would be summoned and he could not disobey.</p><p>He could hide no more.</p><p>He took his human form and let it appear before the bedroom door.</p><p>He knocked.   </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Constructive Crit must be asked for.</p><p>AND I'M ASKING FOR IT.</p><p>All comments/questions/requests for clarification are VERY WELCOME.  I am constantly trying to improve this work.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. But Obey?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot / That it do singe yourself."</p><p> -HENRY VIII, ACT 1 SCENE 1</p><p> </p><p>"I have the right to be angry, mortally angry!"</p><p>-- Jonah 4:9<br/>New Jerusalem Bible</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter started a little, confused at the sound.  He was certain he had never heard Tony <em> knock </em>before.  He went to the door and opened it.</p><p>Tony entered the room with a tense and frightened look.  Peter tried to smile in a comforting way as he took Tony by the hand and led him to the bed.  Tony was nervous.  But Peter already knew that.  Knew it when Tony knocked instead of just entering.  Peter thought they might kiss for a while, might hold each other before they talked.  But it hurt Peter’s chest to see the worry in his friend’s eyes.  There was no more putting it off.  He sat down on the bed, but Tony chose to stand.</p><p>“All right.  You want me to tell you why I asked you to meet me here.  Although you didn’t have to knock on your own bedroom door…”</p><p>“<em> Your </em> bedroom,” Tony corrected softly.  “This is your chamber.” </p><p>“…oh.  Yeah… I guess… okay.”</p><p>Tony stood at attention, although his head a little bowed.  He waited.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter said, his voice breaking.  How he longed to just hide in his lover’s arms and forget about all of it, or else just hide under the blankets until it went away.  But it was too late for that.  He took a deep breath and plunged forward.</p><p>“Tony, I’ve been reading Abe Sexton’s journals for the past four days and I’ve… I’ve been learning things.  Disturbing things.  Like… the seal of Incêndio?  When each Post Patriarch inherited you, they put you under a seal that would <em> burn </em> you if you disobey them?  But each man had to one-up the Patriarch that came before him, so that his seal would burn you <em> worse </em> than the seals that came before?  So the new Patriarch could force you to disobey old orders because the new orders <em> hurt worse?” </em></p><p>Tony was watching his face carefully, warily.  Now he was making tiny movements, shaking his head, just barely, to say “No.” </p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Yes…” Tony struggled to explain.  “But the seals fade in time, after the death of each magician, the seals fade… the pain fades…”</p><p>“So they didn’t even <em> have </em> to… oh god… that makes it <em> worse </em> Tony, not better.   All these seals… they’re just there to put you in <em> more </em> pain than the pain that came before.  And that thing that Thomas Post did to you, when they gathered the three black animals to force you to tell the truth about what you did to Tom Dylan.  That was to make it hurt <em> three times worse </em> than whatever command Tom Dylan gave you…”</p><p>“And to strengthen me three times,” Tony said, almost too quietly to hear.  He clearly didn’t want to argue, but he also clearly disagreed.   “To make me strong, three times stronger than Tom Dylan’s command…”</p><p>“That’s <em> NOT </em> what Abe Sexton said!” Peter argued.  Although, secretly, he hoped it was true.  Maybe Abe Sexton had gotten it wrong.  “I’ve been reading his journals, Tony, and he said some terrible things.”</p><p>“Sometimes… novice magicians… make mistakes….”</p><p>“So… so if Tom Dylan <em> had </em> commanded you to not tell anyone what you had done, and then Thomas Post put you in the seal and commanded you tell the truth…”</p><p>“I would have spoken the truth.”</p><p>“And it would have <em> hurt </em>.”</p><p>“Yes, but I would be stronger within the seal.”</p><p>“And to disobey Thomas Post would have hurt <em> worse </em>…”</p><p>“To disobey Thomas Post, inside the seal, would have been impossible.”</p><p>“Because the most powerful magician is the one who can <em> hurt you the most </em> .  Can hurt you so badly that you’ll be too distracted to notice your being punished for disobeying the first magician.  <em> That’s </em> what being a "master magician" is all about, that’s what I wasn’t getting…”  Peter almost doubled over with the pain of it all, his hands fisted on the edge of the bed.  He had eagerly reached for Abe Sexton’s journal when he thought he recognized the name.  Poured through blocky, perfectly spaced handwriting of dozens upon dozens of journals, benefiting from Abe’s compulsion to document everything that happened in his family.  Realized that Abe, too, had daydreamed about the day he would become the most powerful magician of all.  Peter thought he had discovered the ultimate treasure – until Abe turned 16.</p><p>Some of it was impossible to understand.  Abe liked to write in German and Latin, and sometimes in a language that Peter suspected he made up himself.  But his disgust saturated every page.  He was livid as he described “magician’s duels” that, in essence, subjected Methuselah to various types of pain, forcing the demon servant to serve the <em> strongest </em>magician.  And yet Abe also seemed hell-bent on becoming a powerful magician himself, in order to force Tony to defy his father to break… something.  It wasn’t clear.</p><p>His revulsion filled up years’ worth of journals.  And now, one hundred years later, Peter sat at his kitchen table and shared that teen’s outrage. </p><p>Tony, on the other hand, remained baffled. </p><p>“Tony,” Peter hissed, trying to make his friend understand.  “Did you know how terrified all the Post girls were that Judah Post would someday use the 300 League spell to kill their father?  And not because they were afraid he would die...  but that they were convinced Judah had the power to force <em> you </em> to kill your master and then <em> destroy you </em> when you just refused?  That they lived in fear of waking up to find him, or you, or <em> both of you </em>, were just dead?”</p><p>He was almost in tears now, and that wasn’t good.  Because Tony was looking very compassionate about the tears.  But not particularly concerned about the facts Peter had uncovered.</p><p>“Tony…”  Peter took a deep breath and tried again.  “When Abe turned 16 you were sent to his bedroom, do you remember?”</p><p>Tony nodded solemnly.  “Yes.”</p><p>“And he tried to kick you out, but you said you didn’t have the authority to leave, and he wasn’t a powerful enough magician to hurt you enough to force you to leave.  You had to stay and.. make him a <em> man </em>…”</p><p>Tony nodded.  His face was gentle with the memory.  “I could have taken any form he wanted, a woman or a girl or a man or a boy, but he wanted none of them.  But I could not leave; his father tasked me to stay until it was done.  Master Peter…”  He moved as if to reach out and stroke Peter’s face, but changed his mind and turned to the book.  With two hands he pulled the massive tome closer to them and opened it to a page in the middle. </p><p>As Peter leaned to look down at the woodcut, Tony reached out to stroke the back of his head.  “We reached a pleasant accord.  He and I.  Why does this vex you now?  Abe Sexton found it most satisfying…”</p><p>Peter recognized the hillock where the two boys lay on a quilt, looking up at summer stars.  An odd looking boy with very wide eyes and old-fashioned clothes was lying on the quilt next to an identical boy in identical clothes.  They were talking.  Peter realized that Methuselah had found a “form” that Abe found pleasant, a boy exactly his age.  The boy’s hands were laying very close to each other.  Sometimes, Peter knew, their knuckles would brush against each other.  Maybe, by the end of the night, they would be holding hands.  Sometimes they smiled and pointed when they saw shooting stars.  It was a lovely picture.  No wonder Tony called it an “accord.”  Both Abe and his companion looked perfectly content.</p><p>They were probably talking about outer space, Peter realized.  Tony was probably explaining what he had been taught in the monastery and Abe was explaining what he had learned in his books.</p><p>“But…” Peter said, confused.  It was hard to justify the picture he was seeing with the vitriol of Abe’s journals.  “But he said… you couldn’t leave… until… until he had <em> penetrated </em> you…”</p><p>Tony smiled fondly.  “It is a <em> secret </em>, Master Peter.  Can I tell you?  You bade me ‘Be polite and keep their secrets.’”  But even as he spoke he turned the page.</p><p>On that page Abe, eyes wide, had his hand completely inside his doubleganger’s chest.  Abe’s hand, Peter knew, was planted firmly on the quilt beneath them.  Tony, having taken the form of Abe, looked back at the 16-year old calmly.  Then Abe withdrew his hand, and Tony’s chest grew solid again.  They would spend the rest of the night talking about the nature of solids, gasses and liquids.   </p><p>“Oh,” Peter said.  He took a breath of relief.  Of course, he should have known.  Following the letter of the law without <em> actually </em>doing what he had been ordered to do.  It was an artform.  And Tony was quite the artist.</p><p>“Can you… help me understand why Abe Sexton was trying to become a master magician himself?  He seemed to hate all his… but he seemed to really want to learn how to be able to force you to break something, but I didn’t understand that part because he always wrote it in another language.”</p><p>Tony bowed his head.  Still, he couldn’t help but smile fondly.  “<em> The Tongue of Jephthah’s Daughter, </em> he called it.  It is his own invention.”</p><p>“I should have known you would know.  What is the '<em> ephod nodum </em>?'  What did Abe want to force you to break?</p><p>Tony sighed heavily.  His shoulders sank.  He couldn’t seem to lift his head.  He looked as weary as Peter felt.  “It is a nothing.  There <em> is </em> no nodum…” he said, shaking his head.  He looked both broken and defeated, as if he were losing an ancient argument.  “Abe Sexton forever tasked me to find the ‘bottle’ or the ‘ring’ or the ‘lamp.’  Insisted I was a djinn of Solomon and I had to be set free.  It vexed him full sore that I knew nothing of <em> djinn </em> or <em> Solomon </em> .  I <em> tried </em> to tell him.  He did not like my answer.  I tried to tell him that the only ‘bottle’ to break would be the books of Ezra and Nehemiah Post, but he would have none of it.  He was my learned Doctor, but once he had learned, he could not be corrected…”</p><p>“But you <em> did </em> destroy those books.  It took you until Evan Post to do it…”</p><p>Tony smiled wistfully.  And not without a little pride.  “Yes, Abe Sexton had tasked me to it.  It took three generations, but I did succeed.”  </p><p>Another deep breath,  another stab at being understood.  “Tony, When I was fifteen I heard you say, in this room, ‘<em> When the master commands, what else can the servant do but obey? </em>’ And…”  Peter dropped his eyes.  “...and that there would be no secrets…” </p><p>“Yes,” Tony said, nodding.  “It is <em> your </em>chamber, Master.  You have no secrets here.”</p><p>“And now I’m trying to make you understand my secret.  Tony, please try to understand that <em> I love you </em> .  And there are some things… I’m sure they made sense to the Post men and maybe to some monks in the 4th century but they do not make sense to me.  I can’t… I can’t <em> ask </em> you to… do things with me in bed, or do things <em> to </em>me in bed, if <em>you don’t have any choice</em>.  If it’s just one of your duties, like keeping me safe from snakes.  I can’t ask you to do anything… any <em>sex</em>-thing... if you can’t tell me ‘no.’”</p><p>Miserably he reached out and pulled the huge leather book to him.  Grimacing, he tried to turn to the glossary at the back, where the words were, along with the definitions that made him tear up.  But the book refused to cooperate.  Instead the huge pages turned themselves until he was looking at the last picture he wanted to see, the picture of Nehemiah Post using Methuselah’s body before going to sleep.   </p><p>“Tony,” he said as factually as he could.  “When I was fifteen you asked me to ‘make me your beloved’ and I had no idea what that meant.  I thought it meant ‘special’ like ‘a beloved poem’ or ‘a beloved story.’  I had no idea you wanted me to do that <em> to </em> you…”  He shook his head in disgust.  Just now it was occurring to him, in Tony’s world, offering his body to the horny fifteen-year-old was more normal than <em> not </em>offering up his body.  Peter shook his head hard and tried to push forward.</p><p>“And then on the night before you left for the Dark Trinity, you asked me ‘Shall I make you my beloved,’ and you smiled like it might be a funny thing.  A silly thing.  I said ‘yes’ because I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.  And you’ve made it clear that you… I mean you created a body part just for me just to do it… and I appreciate that Tony, but…”</p><p>Peter recognized the look on Tony’s face now.  He didn’t look sorrowful anymore.  He looked baffled.  Baffled and frustrated.  He didn’t understand, and he knew he didn’t understand.  But he was trying desperately to understand.</p><p>“There’s a glossary in the back of this book.  I found out that “beloved” and “lover” aren’t the same thing, but I guess I always knew that.   Does this make sense?  Can you know my secret?  I don’t want to <em> do that thing to you </em> .  And I don’t… I can’t ask you to do that thing <em> to </em>me if you don’t want to…”</p><p>Tony walked quietly up to the book and turned the pages.   There, on the settee lounged Lysander and his two sturdy men with identical faces.  He turned Peter’s chin to face him with gentle fingers.</p><p>“Lysander was <em> my beloved </em> .  He made me his <em> lover</em>, made both the King of the East and the King of the West his lovers.  It was his desire… his desire that we should <em> ‘do that’ </em> to him...”</p><p>“And you couldn’t tell him ‘no!’  Peter insisted, almost shouted, twisting his face away from Tony’s hand.  “That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand...Tony, <em> how </em> can I ask you to make love to me if <em> you can’t tell me ‘no’?” </em></p><p>Tony no longer looked exhausted.  Now it was almost angry.  Maybe he <em> did </em>understand what Peter was getting at, and he just didn’t like it.  He actually glared at the book, as if he wanted to destroy it.  They stayed that way in silence for a while.  Tony’s mouth was working, although he said nothing.  His jaw was hardening and he was obviously trying to soften his expression, but couldn’t.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter said as gently as he could, “You were a <em> slave </em> in this house, in the Post house.  That changes everything for me.  I know Lysander tasked you to be his ‘ <em> lover </em> ,’ I figured that out,” he said, touching the book where three handsome men conspired.  “And all the other Post-men tasked you to be the… to be the ‘ <em> beloved </em> ’ but that is <em> not </em>the right word for it.  And I’m glad you and Abe Sexton found a way around all of that.  </p><p>“But these are things <em> they ordered you to do</em>, Tony.  And that’s why I can’t… we can’t… it was <em> wrong </em> for them to make you… <em> what </em>?</p><p>Tony had made a frustrated sound, so quiet Peter barely heard it.  Only when he insisted did Tony speak.</p><p>His voice was very quiet.  He spoke through a clenched jaw as he glared down at the carpet.</p><p>“You curse the poachers who commit crimes in Ethiopia, over 2,000 leagues away.  And you curse the name of the men in your book whose crimes are more than a score of years old.  Will you also now curse the generations as well?”  There was no patience in his voice, no understanding.  When he finally looked at Peter his eyes were dark and his lip twitched in a way Peter had never seen before.  </p><p>“My <em> angry </em>Master," he growled, and Peter's chest tightened.  He was <em>sneering</em>.  Peter had never seen Tony <em>sneer</em> before.  </p><p>"You've heated your furnace against your foe, heated it so hot that you've <em>singed</em> yourself... and yet you always find <em>more</em> foes.  <em>So</em> angry.  Angry at crimes in far away lands.  Angry at hunters in far away climbs.  Now, will you be angry at the dead?”</p><p>“I have the <em> right </em> to be angry!”  Peter shouted.  “<em>Mortally </em> angry!  I’ve read Malcolm X, I know how this works.  <em> I inherited you </em> , Tony, the same way I’m going to inherit the house some day.  And that means I inherit all the debt, too.  And yes, <em> this is my debt </em> .  I have to take care of you, Tony. <strong> Not <em> just </em>because I love you</strong> but because it <em>all</em> falls on me now.  That’s just the way it is.  And now…”</p><p>Peter tried to breathe but his lungs were aching.  He didn’t want to argue with Tony (dear god was he actually <em> yelling </em>just now?)  All he wanted to do was bury his face in Tony’s neck and hide in the man’s arms, hide under the covers.  He wanted it so badly it hurt.   The temptation was overwhelming and making him sick.  Still, he fisted the creamy-white covers of the bed and pushed forward.</p><p>“Abe Sexton was trying to free you.  That’s what he keeps talking about in his journal, it makes sense now.  He was writing it in a language he invented because he couldn’t let his family know.  That’s what the <em> ephad nodum </em> was about.  He must have thought you were a genie, like in the <em> Arabian Nights. </em>   The genies were trapped by Solomon, that’s a legendary wizard from a long time ago, in bottles or lamps.  When he told you to destroy the <em> ephod nodum </em> he wanted you to destroy your genie’s bottle, but of course there isn’t one.  So you can’t destroy it.  You did destroy the German books, but that didn’t set you free, did it?  You still call me ‘Master.’  You still get hurt if you disobey me.  I asked you why the noisy room was so noisy and you <em> didn’t know the answer </em> and still got hurt because you didn’t answer the question right.  You’re still a slave and I guess there’s nothing we can do about that.  There’s no <em> ephad nodum </em> to destroy.  And <em> that’s </em>why we can’t be lovers… or lovers and beloveds or… whatever.  That’s why.”</p><p>“Will you…”</p><p>Peter waited patiently.  He didn’t look up at Tony as he waited for the words.  He would have said something, but didn’t.  He had never heard Tony sound so <em> choked </em>before.</p><p>“Will you send me into the ground?” </p><p>“<b><em>No</em></b>!”  Peter said suddenly, loudly, startling them both.  “No, no no that’s not… <em> no </em>.  I never meant…”</p><p>“Will you <em> cast me out </em>?” Tony asked, his voice broken and pained.  But he was looking into Peter’s eyes now, his jaw unclenched, his face filling with relief. </p><p>“No, <em> no </em> , of course not,” Peter said as gently as he could, realizing for the first time what Tony had been worried about.  “<em>No </em> .  Never.  You’re my best friend, Tony.  I love you.  I always want you with me.  Always.  Oh god… you think that’s… Tony how could I even… Tony that’s not what <em> free </em>means…” </p><p>“He <em> ordered </em> me to leave, to leave Lysander and my <em> princesa </em> ....to leave the land that <em> I protected </em> , the land <em> I had made plentiful. </em>  He said someday he would have the power to cast me out and I would never return.  I told him he would never have that power, that I would never let him inherit the spellbooks.  He thought to best me for he had been chosen by Nana-Justina.  He vowed to send me to the ends of the earth.  He vowed that I would never return.</p><p>“But then the sheriff's son came to us, he who Lavern had healed and brought back from death.  His body was healed but his mind was ill.  When he left here Abe Sexton left with him.  Left with him, and did not return.”  </p><p>“Oh... but… didn’t he?  Didn’t he live with the sheriff's son for 50 years, and then come back to live with his family?</p><p>“He returned, but he did not return.  He lived on the land, but he never spoke to me again.”</p><p>His voice was quiet and relieved, but his face was solemn.    Peter could see it just as easily as if he saw the woodcut in the book;  Tony’s relief that the man who seemed hellbent on casting him from the Homestead finally leaving the Homestead himself.  Tony’s confused longing when the man who had frightened him so badly was now ignoring him.</p><p>Peter knew that feeling.</p><p>“Probably…”  Peter said as gently as he could.  “I think he was… Abe Sexton was an abolitionist.  Like all the girls were.  Abolitionists and suffragists went hand in hand.  I think he was trying.. I know this must have sounded terrifying to you but I think he was trying to be kind to you.  The words he was using… they meant different things to him.  Damn!  No <em> wonder </em> he <em> made up </em> his own language, sometimes there just aren’t WORDS for things!  Tony, <em> listen… </em>”</p><p>And with that, Peter stopped talking.</p><p>Closing his eyes and bowing his head he pictured it.  <em> Thought it </em>as hard as he could.  </p><p>First he pictured the two of them holding each other in bed, the way they always did.  Kissing and touching each other.  Letting Tony feed until he fell asleep.  Knowing Tony would feed again as he slept.  Plotting together, working out spells and plans and schemes and sweet dreams and revenge.  </p><p>But then he let his mind wander to his plans for the future.  Tony as a small black dog that could walk in the woods with him in the mornings and evenings.  Sitting on his lap beside him on the couch as they watched TV, Peter explaining all the jokes in his favorite cartoons.  Or as a black cat, curling up in Peter’s lap, being stroked with Peter’s left hand while he did homework with his right.  Visiting Peter in dreams as he attended college in New York City.  </p><p>But so much more than that.  Peter thought of the years to come, when he grew up and took responsibility for the house.  Taking care of May and Ben in their old age with Tony at his side.  Walking hand in hand through the forest at night, looking at actual stars instead of dream stars.  Touching each other as they lay on a blanket on the hills of Suicide Lake.  Rebuilding the cottages so that artists could come and live and create, feeding their light to Tony.  Creating works of art.  He could picture himself the same age as Uncle Ben, writing to artists to come and visit the property.  Bringing painters to create paintings of the underground chapel.  Rebuilding the South House.  </p><p>He could picture it so clearly he could almost reach out and touch it.  Someday the house would be his, and the artists who came to live there wouldn't blink when he said he lived with Tony, a man his age with some made-up last name.  They would both wear wedding rings just like the older men who ran the art galleries in the city.  Peter would drive to those galleries and let them display Tony's paintings.  He would regale them with stories about how he had found the paintings underneath his house when he was a teenager.  Over and over again he would tell eager New Yorkers the story of Tony's South House.  </p><p>Then he'd drive home in the evening and Tony would be waiting.  They would talk about the days’ events at the kitchen table.  Shout at politicians on the television as they snuggled on the couch.  Sit on the a huge back porch that looked just like the DeSlaughters, with two Adirondack chairs, just like Mr. and Mrs. DeSlaughter had.  Then he and Tony could sit side by side and watch the sun set. They would hold hands, just like Matty’s mom and dad.    </p><p>He saw it in his head, and when he could see it very clearly, he opened his eyes.  He looked at the man standing beside him.</p><p>“Do you understand?”</p><p>Tony’s face was calm now.  He looked at Peter longingly, but he didn’t move from where he stood.  “Yes, master.  <em>Yes</em>.  I will <em>always</em> serve you well.  Forever.  Until the very end of your days.”</p><p>“Please try to understand Abe Sexton was… oh nevermind.  Maybe you can’t understand.  The words we use and the words you use have different meanings, oh dammit…”  He covered his eyes with both hands.  He wanted to dig the heals of his hands right into his eye sockets... anything to stop this churning in his brain.   He growled at the <em> ridiculousness </em> of it all, then said a few obscene words to boot.  “But you can't understand... because that’s the problem with <em> all </em> words, isn’t it?!  Words just have lots of <em> meanings </em> , and it’s impossible to <em> anyone </em>to be understood,” he moaned.    </p><p>He realized, for the first time, what it meant when Tony had been sent to ‘vex’ people.  He glared at the huge book sitting beside him that had ‘vexed’ him with the knowledge that ‘beloved’ meant ‘bottom’ and ‘lover’ meant ‘top.’  The impossible storm in his brain was vexing him now.  </p><p>He kept his face covered, took another deep breath, and tried again.</p><p>“I <em> always </em> want you with me.  I’ll <em> always </em> take care of you.  And you can feed, and when you feed we will still kiss and touch, you can still make me feel good with your mouth.  I know you like that.  But we can’t be… we can’t be <em> lovers </em>, Tony.”</p><p>He snuck a peek back up at Tony’s face, only to see that hopeless confusion again.</p><p>“I love you, but that can’t happen.  Can you understand?” he said helplessly, knowing Tony couldn’t.</p><p>“Because... because there is no <em> ephod nodum</em>.”</p><p>“Yes!  Yes, Tony, you get it!”</p><p>“There were the German books, and I have destroyed them.”</p><p>“Yes!  But that didn’t set you free.  It that had set you free, then... but you’re still the genie in the bottle.  And we <em>can't</em> set you free, because there is no bottle to break.”</p><p>“For there is no genie's bottle..."  He spoke slowly and carefully, his brow creased.   "But... if there <em> were...</em> and it were broken... you would take me as your lover.”</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>.  But there’s isn’t, so you can’t.”  Peter said, his shoulders sagging with relieved.  He smiled and dried his face with the back of one hand.  Finally his friend understood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Genie’s Bottle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Tony, I really, really, seriously, for-real, just-say…” Peter was shouting now.  He had lost the feeling in his fingers, Tony was holding his hands in a crushing grip.  He would have bruises in the morning. </p>
<p>“…have died!  Where the ash trees have died!  There you will find it! In their roots you will find…”</p>
<p>Suddenly Tony closed his mouth hard.  He had never looked so pale.  Peter had the terrible idea that if Tony opened his mouth again, blood would be coming out.</p>
<p>“Tony, don’t talk.  I told you this, I told you do not tell me things that hurt you…”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter smiled a little, then realized he was fighting back tears.  Tony now looked calmer now, peaceful but resolute.  Peter felt the exact opposite of peaceful.  He wanted to tear his hair out with both hands and scream at the top of his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, more than once.  Peter sat quietly and waited.  He recognized Tony’s ‘thinking’ face.  He hoped Tony wasn’t thinking of another argument.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right now Peter wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers where it was safe.  To hide under Tony and be kissed and caressed and let whatever happened, happen.  He had no idea if he was right or wrong right now, had no one on the planet to ask.  Out of every entity on earth, only he, Tony and Abe Sexton knew what duties the family “servant” was expected to perform.  To Abe Sexton, it was disgusting.  To Tony it was a matter of course.  The whole of the moral argument lay upon Peter’s shoulders now, and Peter’s shoulders buckled under the weight.  His whole body ached.  Even in his thirteenth year he couldn’t imagine being as miserable as he was at this moment.  He longed to take Tony’s face in his hands and say “Forget it, forget I said anything,” and let Tony do </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wanted, then get back to the exciting prospect of building his own Superfriends team. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a terrible, horrible moment, Peter wondered if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> give Tony what </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted.  Maybe it wasn’t impossible.  Just a scant year ago Peter had found the pictures in the drowned magazine too frightening to think about.  He was certain those men must have been crazy.  But now Tony put his mouth there almost every night.  And then there was Abe Sexton… clearly repulsed at the idea of </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex act with Methuselah, but that was at the age of 16.  When he was older he went to live thirty years of his life with the Sheriff's son, so he must have found </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he liked doing with another man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Tony moved.  First, he reached down to the bed to close the book.  He pushed it away to the other side of the large bed.  Then he came and stood before Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Casually he pushed Peter’s knees apart with his own knee (a move that took Peter’s breath away and made his heart pound) and knelt between them.  This was not an unusual position for them, Peter often fed Tony like this if he was going to leave directly afterward.  Peter reached out to caress Tony’s head, but Tony took both his hands.  For a few moments he kissed the backs of those hands over and over again, reverently.  Then he turned Peter’s hands to cup his face, where he rested, sometimes turning to place a fierce kiss on one palm or the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he took Peter’s hands in his, kissed the knuckles, and held them to his mouth.  Peter didn’t speak.  Tony was clearly trying to explain a difficult concept, Peter recognized the look in his eyes.  He waited patiently to hear what it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tuller Hill forest,” he said at last.  Peter was confused, but nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is protected by an old seal; I cannot hunt there without your leave.  As is Hammond Hill.  Long Pond is not good hunting grounds.  But Susquehannock was once mine to roam at my will.  None else has claim on it.  Give me leave, once, to feed there at my will, and you need not speak the words again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter listened carefully, trying to understand.  Even though it didn’t make much sense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I give you leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must say the words, master.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter blinked.  He hadn’t said ‘the words’ in a while, but he didn’t argue.  “Tony, I really, really, seriously, Just Say No-joke, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>really mean it.  You have my… leave?  To go feed fully at your will, and I’m not going to say these words again.  Because I don’t need to.  You have my leave.  Is that right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At Susquehannock…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At Susquehannock.  My leave.  Feed and get fat.  Get young.  It’s yours forever.  By my leave.  And I won’t tell you again because it’s a forever-thing.  Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony nodded solemnly.  Peter hopped he had done a good thing, but Tony’s tense face made him worried, so he waited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twice, Tony opened his mouth and then closed it again.  When he finally spoke, his jaw was tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fifty seven paces west from the DeSlaughter house, on the north side of the road, where the two trees twist…”  He lost his breath.  His eyes unfocused, but then he found his strength and continued.  “Under the road, where it does dip, under the road and 40 more paces into the woods, where you first found the sowthistle… </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Tony, you’re hurting me,” Peter said, eyes wide.  Tony was squeezing his hands in an impossible grip, clinging to them like a drowning man.  He had gone from losing air to gasping and panting, a terrifying sight since he normally didn’t breathe at all.  But still he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…and passed 20 more paces.  That is the eastern seal.  The southern seal once lay far passed the South House,” he closed his eyes in pain, but continued to force out the words.  “… but that was destroyed by the King’s High Way.  But the old seal is in the lake, on Matthew’s rock.  He has seen it.  Soon the water will recede and it will be plain to all…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, stop...” Peter cautioned.  Tony’s head was bowing and his entire body was tilting to one side.  Peter tried to pull him back into his arms, but when Tony moved away from his knees and Peter saw, much to his alarm, that Tony’s shirt was stained with blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…that is the old south seal.  Under the lake.  The west seal spans across the far side of Witch Road.  Some of it protrudes from the ground, your disciple Luke found some of it in his wanderings.  He can lead you there.  But the north seal…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Peter shouted, horrified.  Tony’s shirt stuck to his chest, a perfect circle of blood visible in the creamy fabric, right in the center.  But soon it would no longer be a circle, the stain was spreading fast.  Tony’s body was weaving back and forth.  He looked like a man who had forgotten where he was.  He blinked up at Peter in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he kept talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…the north seal crosses Samuel Road.  It will be difficult to find.  Mayhap I cannot show you…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony stop talking now, you’re hurting yourself…” Peter argued, even as Tony leaned helplessly Peter’s knees.  Now the legs of Peter’s pants were soaked with Tony’s blood.  But Tony was completely ignoring him now.  “At the crossways of Samuel Road and Endor Road, there you will find part.  Where… where… the ash trees...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, I really, really, seriously, for-real, just-say…” Peter was shouting now.  He had lost the feeling in his fingers, Tony was holding his hands in a crushing grip.  He would have bruises in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…have died!  Where the ash trees have died!  There you will find it! In their roots you will find…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly Tony closed his mouth hard.  He had never looked so pale.  Peter had the terrible idea that if Tony opened his mouth again, blood would be coming out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, don’t talk.  I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you this, I told you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do not tell me things that hurt you</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can destroy them, Master!”  Tony shouted, or would have shouted, had he had breath to shout with.  “You can!  The letters… they are carved in stone!  There is no magic guarding them!  With a hammer and chisel, they can be defaced…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>ordering</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to stop talking now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…in the roots of the ash tree.  There the ash trees have died…” Tony whimpered, head weaving again, bowing toward Peter’s lap.  His grip on Peter’s hands was weakening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have </span>
  <b>
    <em>told</em>
  </b>
  <span> you do </span>
  <b>
    <em>not</em>
  </b>
  <span> tell me anything that… wait </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Peter asked, blinking suddenly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s… that’s the seals, right?  Are you saying the seals are just… letters?  I can just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>break</span>
  </em>
  <span> them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s head was laying weakly against Peter’s thigh now, and he was gasping as he had run a long distance.  He let go of Peter’s hands and reached out for his waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be that easy, can it?” he asked, his head spinning.  “Is it like… written in German?  Or Latin?  If we just took a hammer and a screwdriver and obliterated the vowels would we really… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you just tell me how to destroy the seals of Berthwald?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Peter had laid Tony out on the bed and stripped his bloodstained shirt off of him, he decided there was a pitcher and bowl with water on the table, and there was.  With the back of Tony’s shirt Peter washed the blood from his chest.  There was no wound there, just the same deep, circular scar that came and went, visible when Tony was an older man, invisible when he was young and strong.  Peter washed his chest tenderly as he tried to puzzle it all out.</p><p>“But if it’s like English, just changing one letter will alter the meaning.  Like in “slaughter” and “laughter.”  But wait… sometimes changing letters changes the meaning but not the <em> sound… </em> “Lovelace” and “Loveless” are not the same word but they <em> sound </em> the same… I’ll just have to take out entire words.  But I can do that.”</p><p>“You’re the wordmaster,” Tony whispered.</p><p>“And <em> you </em>defied a direct order, Tony,” he scolded, when he was finally done cleaning the man’s chest.  He had nowhere to put the bloody clothing, so he let it drop to the ground, where it disappeared into the floor.</p><p>“I told you ‘<em>no </em>,’” Tony grinned foolishly.  Peter hadn’t seen him that punch-drunk since the night he killed Old-Blue.</p><p>“Well, that’s good.  I’m proud of you.  Yes.  But I’m not sure <em> why </em>, it seems like a lot of trouble for you.  You’ve had my permission to cross the seals forever.”</p><p>Tony shook his head.  “But that is not the <em> nature </em> of seals, my master, I told you…”</p><p>“Oh, wait, you’re right, you said I had to say the words every fortnight.  I remember now.  If I destroy the east seals, I know those are the strongest, can you just use that as a doorway, to get out whenever you want?  Of course the south seal is the easiest because Matthew already knows where that is.  He’ll be thrilled to take a hammer and screwdriver to it if he knows it will help you.  And John will be glad to know he found something important, he can take care of that one.  Can we just keep knocking holes in them, one at a time?  Lots and lots of little holes, that you can escape through, until I can take them all down?  Samuel Road and Endor Road aren’t even on our property, although I guess they used to be…</p><p>“Tony?”  He looked down at his friend, laying back on the creamy white bed, looking up at him peacefully.</p><p>“Why did you hurt yourself to tell me all this?”</p><p>“I told you ‘<b><em>no’</em> </b>,” Tony said, smiling again.  </p><p>“But… <em> why </em>?”</p><p>“The seals are the <em> ephod nodum.  </em> Ezra and Nehemiah were my Solomon.  The seal was my bottle.  You will obey Abe Sexton.  <em> You </em>will break the bottle.”</p><p>He sat up on the bed, moving closer to Peter.  “Ope the doors, Master.  Ope the doors and I shall feed at my will at Susquehannock.  I shall feed from this whilst you sleep…” he said, reaching out and brushing Peter’s witchesmark with the back of his knuckles. </p><p>Peter’s eyebrows went up in alarm.  “Why would you do that?” he asked.</p><p>“I will feast in Susquehannock, I will come feed <em> here </em> before dawn.  You will have very <em> pleasant </em> dreams…” Tony said with a smile.</p><p>“But <em> why </em> would you do it when I sleep?” Peter protested.  “I like it when you feed, why would you…”</p><p>“Because when I am free to roam and feed, when I am strong, then when I come to you at nightfall…”  He reached out and cupped Peter’s face gently. </p><p>“You will not question why I do <em> this </em>…”</p><p>He kissed Peter on the mouth.  Peter parted his lips willingly, and when he felt Tony’s tongue it all fell into place in a moment.</p><p>Tony, his friend who lived under his bed, but <em> could </em>be able to travel anywhere he chose, whenever he chose to.</p><p>Tony, his friend who wouldn’t <em> need </em> him to eat, who might appreciate his herbitarium and his rabbit hutch but didn’t <em> need </em> it, the way a well fed boy didn’t <em> need </em>, but certainly appreciated, birthday cake.</p><p>Tony, his friend who wouldn’t need an owl, magic fern seed or unlucky barncat, because now he had an entire forest as his grocery store.  An entire forest he wouldn’t even need permission to visit.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter whispered, when the kiss was done.</p><p>“I want you to be…”  He looked into loving, dark eyes.  Eyes that were waiting patiently.</p><p>“I want you to make me your beloved.”</p><p>Solemnly Tony kissed him one more time, then stood and gathered Peter, bride-like, into his arms and moved them onto the bed.  Holding Peter to his chest he pulled back the creamy white blankets (after moving a few white roses out of the way) and tucked him inside.  He helped Peter out of his billowy white shirt, but as Peter worked his way out of his black pants, Tony stood and untied the curtains of the four-poster bed.</p><p>Peter had noticed the heavy, golden cords that tied gracefully at each corner of the bed, but had never realized that they could be undone.  One at a time Tony moved the heavy curtains into place until Peter was alone in a cozy room of white.  Then Tony appeared and climbed into the bed with him.  Shedding his black pants and his smallclothes, he slid in beside Peter, holding him close.</p><p>“You are safe now, my sweet Peter.  <em> Garoto eu amo</em>.  My novice… my <em> journeyman </em> magician.  Look!”  He pointed to the drawn curtains that enclosed the bed.    “Protected by the covers!”</p><p>Peter looked at where he was pointing, and suddenly agreed.  He smiled.  He didn’t feel as nervous anymore.  Of course, the bedcurtains <em> were </em> just like covers.</p><p>“I’m safe here,” he whispered to Tony, as Tony relieved him of his boxers.  He wrapped his hands around his lover’s head and kissed his cheek.  “I’ve always known I was safe with you.</p><p>“But <em> you </em> aren’t safe with you…” he scolded again, stroking the circular scar on Tony’s chest, still visible although quickly fading.  “I <em> told </em> you not to hurt yourself… you don’t have to obey me, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself because I love you.  I don’t want you to hurt.  But you’ve always had a mind of your own…”</p><p>Tony took his hand and kissed it, then pressed it back to the center of his chest.  “I will no longer speak of it, my wordmaster, and you will destroy it without my help.  You will break the genie’s bottle and set your servant free.”</p><p>“<em> You </em> broke it, you broke it just now.  You were so brave.  You shattered it.  Now I just have to sweep up the pieces.”</p><p>“Yes, Abe Sexton had tasked me to it.  Now it is done.”  He interrupted Peter’s next question with a kiss.  Then with a firm hand that reached beneath the covers and began to massage Peter’s inner thigh in earnest. </p><p>“I’ll sweep up all of the pieces,” Peter whimpered, trying to relax under Tony’s touch.  Trying not to be nervous.  “And you’ll be free, but you’ll come back to me, won’t you?”</p><p>“Always come back to your side.  And while I am welcome in your bed?  I will always be there,” he murmured gently.</p><p>“Yes…” Peter whispered back.  Although it was getting decidedly harder to talk.  Especially considering what Tony’s fingers were doing now.  “In my bed… beneath the covers…”</p><p>“Always, beloved,” Tony whispered against his mouth as clever fingers slipped their way inside.  First one, then two.  “Always,” he crooned as Peter gasped and whimpered and hid his face in Tony’s neck.</p><p>“Always safe,” he whispered, adding the third.</p><p>“It is <em> always </em> safe beneath the covers.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who followed me on this crazy journey.</p><p>There WILL be one more part to this story - the coda - in which you will learn what happens to Peter and The Disciples and how they decide to save the world.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You know you can only leave one kudo, so since you're here, leave a comment!!</p><p>Comments are EASY... SO MUCH EASIER than baptizing the ground with  buckthorn-rosemary-sowthistle-ragweed soup!!  Just cut and paste your favorite line!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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